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diff --git a/78456-h/78456-h.htm b/78456-h/78456-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6d261f1 --- /dev/null +++ b/78456-h/78456-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12307 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> + +<head> + +<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + +<link rel="icon" href="images/img-cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + +<meta charset="utf-8"> + +<title> +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Donovan, Volume I, by Edna Lyall +</title> + +<style> +body { color: black; + background: white; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +p {text-indent: 1.5em } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.t1 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 200%; + text-align: center } + +p.t2 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + text-align: center } + +p.t2b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t3 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + text-align: center } + +p.t3b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t4 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: center } + +p.t4b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t5 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 60%; + text-align: center } + +h1 { text-align: center } +h2 { text-align: center } +h3 { text-align: center } +h4 { text-align: center } +h5 { text-align: center } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; } + +p.thought {text-indent: 0% ; + letter-spacing: 2em ; + text-align: center } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.footnote {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +.smcap { font-variant: small-caps } + +p.transnote {text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.intro {font-size: 90% ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.quote {text-indent: 4% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78456 ***</div> + +<h1> +<br><br> + DONOVAN<br> +</h1> + +<p class="t3b"> + A Novel<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> + BY<br> +</p> + +<p class="t2"> + EDNA LYALL<br> +</p> + +<p class="t4"> + AUTHOR OF<br> + "WON BY WAITING."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="intro"> + "And I smiled to think God's greatness flowed around<br> + Our incompleteness,—<br> + Round our restlessness, His rest."<br> + E. B. BROWNING.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> + IN THREE VOLUMES.<br> + VOL. I.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> + LONDON:<br> + HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS,<br> + 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.<br> + 1882.<br> +</p> + +<p class="t4"> + <i>All rights reserved.</i><br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> + TO ONE<br> + WHOSE LOVING HELP<br> + I LOVINGLY ACKNOWLEDGE.<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3b"> + Contents<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + I. <a href="#chap01">Running the Gauntlet</a><br> + II. <a href="#chap02">A Retrospect</a><br> + III. <a href="#chap03">The Tremains of Porthkerran</a><br> + IV. <a href="#chap04">"My Only Son, Donovan"</a><br> + V. <a href="#chap05">Repulsed and Attracted</a><br> + VI. <a href="#chap06">Autumn Manœuvres</a><br> + VII. <a href="#chap07">The Black Sheep of Oakdene</a><br> + VIII. <a href="#chap08">"Tied to his Mother's Apron-strings"</a><br> + IX. <a href="#chap09">Dot versus the World</a><br> + X. <a href="#chap10">Looking Two Ways</a><br> + XI. <a href="#chap11">"Let Nothing You Dismay"</a><br> + XII. <a href="#chap12">Desolate</a><br> + XIII. <a href="#chap13">Wishes and Chestnut Roasting</a><br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap01"></a></p> + +<p class="t2"> +DONOVAN. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER I. +<br><br> +RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. +</h2> + +<p class="intro"> + Oh, yet we trust that somehow good<br> + Will be the final goal of ill,<br> + To pangs of nature, sins of will,<br> + Defects of doubt, and taints of blood.<br> +</p> + +<p class="intro"> + That nothing walks with aimless feet;<br> + That not one life shall be destroyed,<br> + Or cast as rubbish to the void,<br> + When God hath made the pile complete.<br> + <i>In Memoriam.</i><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"So Farrant is really to be expelled? Tell +me all about it, for I've heard next to +nothing these last few days up in the infirmary." +</p> + +<p> +The speaker was a boy of about seventeen, +who was walking arm-in-arm with a companion +of his own age in the quietest part of a large +playground. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, on the whole, I think you were well +out of it. There was no end of a row on +Saturday evening when it all came to light. +Little Harrison turned rusty, and told the +Doctor that some of the sixth had taken to +gambling, and then there was a solemn convention, +and we were all called upon to reveal anything +we knew, and, before I could have thanked my +stars for ten seconds that I knew nothing, up +sprang Donovan Farrant, looking like a second +Curtius, only with a bad cause, poor fellow, to +confess that he had been the first to introduce +card-playing. I fancy the Doctor thought him +rather too brazen-faced about it, for he was +awfully severe; but Farrant, you know, is one +of those fellows who look like marble when +they feel most, and, instead of being the picture +of shame, he stood there, with his head thrown +back, looking as if he'd knock all our heads off +for sixpence." +</p> + +<p> +"I can just fancy him. He's certainly a +touch of the Roman in him; but what in the +blessed world did he do it for?" +</p> + +<p> +"Don't know. He's a queer fellow. Such +crazy ideas of honour too! Enough to make +him spring up in that way to answer to a +general accusation, and yet so little that he +could go on for weeks as the ringleader in this affair." +</p> + +<p> +"But what's on the wire now? They're +never going to make him run the gauntlet?" +</p> + +<p> +"They are, though. The lower school's up +in arms because Harrison—who's his fag, you +know—says Farrant forced him against his will +to give his pocket-money for the gaming, +whereupon you can fancy the Doctor was +furious, exaggerated things, and told Farrant he +was found guilty of disobedience, stealing, and +bullying, though everyone knows he's no more +a bully than you are." +</p> + +<p> +"Bully! I should think not! Why, the +little weakly chaps make a regular hero of +him, and he was always hanging about after +poor little Somerton, who died last term. That +Harrison is a rascally young cub. I don't +believe Farrant took his money." +</p> + +<p> +"Asked him to lend it, I daresay, and gave +the young beggar a look from those +extraordinary eyes of his. Anyhow, the lower +school have taken up the Doctor's words, and +Farrant will feel their scorn on his shoulders +before he's an hour older." +</p> + +<p> +"Poor fellow, there he is!" said the first +speaker. "Why didn't they send him off by +the early train? He must have had enough of +this sort of thing yesterday." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, in all conscience! He won't soon forget +that Sunday. By Jove! it was a slashing +sermon the Doctor gave us, preached straight +at Farrant—hurled at his head. But there +must be some reason for keeping him here. I +wish you'd go and speak to him, Reynolds." +</p> + +<p> +After some little discussion, Reynolds gave a +reluctant consent, and, crossing the playground +in the direction of the school-house, made his +way to the place where the culprit was standing. +</p> + +<p> +Donovan Farrant looked somewhat unapproachable, +it must be confessed. He was a +tall slight fellow of nearly eighteen, with dark +hair and complexion, a curiously-formed forehead +bespeaking rare mathematical talent, a +faultless profile, a firm but bitter-looking mouth, +and strange eyes—black in some lights, hazel +in others, but always curiously contradictory +to the hard resoluteness that characterised +the rest of the face, for they were hungry-looking +and unsatisfied. +</p> + +<p> +He was leaning against the wall, but there +was no rest in his attitude. With an expression +of cold scorn, he was watching the gradually +increasing group of boys in the centre of +the playground. His face softened a little as a +friendly greeting attracted his notice. +</p> + +<p> +"I am very sorry you are going, Farrant," +said Reynolds, who had been racking his brain +for words which would be at once kind and yet +bear no reference to his disgrace. This was the +best he could think of. +</p> + +<p> +The strange eyes met his unflinchingly, Reynolds +felt they were not the eyes of a thief or a +bully; yet there was something defiantly hard +and scornful in the tone of the answer. +</p> + +<p> +"Why should you be sorry? Why make +yourself the exception to prove the contrary +rule? If you could step into my shoes and +watch this Christian gathering with my eyes, +you would see a lovely specimen of ill-will to +men." +</p> + +<p> +"Gauntleting is a barbarous custom," said +Reynolds, uneasily. "It is fast dying out; I +only wish we could stop this to-day." +</p> + +<p> +"Never mind," said Donovan, still very bitterly, +"it's only on a piece with the rest of the +world, the people who brag most about the +universal brotherhood are the very first to +throw stones at their neighbours." +</p> + +<p> +Reynolds was about to question this when +some one approached Donovan with a +message—Colonel Farrant had arrived, and was +waiting for him. A sort of spasm passed over the +cold face, but, recovering his self-control in an +instant, Donovan replied, icily, +</p> + +<p> +"Tell him I will come, but that I have other +work before me first." Then, as the messenger +turned away, he folded his arms and leant this +time really for support against the wall. A +glow of shame had mounted to his forehead, +Reynolds could see that he was in terrible +distress. +</p> + +<p> +"Did you not know that your father was +coming?" he ventured to ask, after a few +minutes. +</p> + +<p> +Donovan signed a negative. +</p> + +<p> +"He was only to come back from India on +Saturday, and—and <i>this</i> is what he is met with!" +</p> + +<p> +There was something in the tone of this sentence +which made Reynolds feel that here the real +Donovan Farrant was showing himself, the +sudden boyish shame and grief were so perfectly +natural, so strangely contrasted with the +tone of bitter scorn which he had at first +assumed. But the words called up a sad +enough picture even to the schoolboy's mind, +and his throat felt choked, and he was shy of +offering any consolation. +</p> + +<p> +"You will begin over again in some new +place," he said at last. "You have been left to +yourself so much, surely your father will +understand, and be lenient." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you think I care for his anger?—it's not +that!—but to have brought this disgrace to +him, to have——" he broke off abruptly, with a +stifled sob. +</p> + +<p> +Reynolds was amazed, for no one credited +Donovan Farrant with over-much feeling. But +even as he wondered his companion regained his +composure, and wrapped himself once more in +that impenetrable mantle of cold scorn. +</p> + +<p> +"The Christian brotherhood are nearly ready +for me," he observed, looking towards the long +double line which was being formed at a little +distance, and the knotted scarves, or towels, or +straps with which every boy was armed. +</p> + +<p> +"For heaven's sake don't talk like that!" +exclaimed Reynolds. "Don't let the spite of a +few schoolboys turn you from——" +</p> + +<p> +"My dear fellow, I was turned long ago," +interrupted Donovan. "I'm sorry if my words +hurt you, for I believe you are sincere, but +you're an exception, one of the few exceptions +There, good-bye, thank you." +</p> + +<p> +He turned away, and Reynolds watched him +with a sort of fascination as, with long, +imperturbable strides, he made his way across the +playground. What was there in this strange +fellow that moved him so? There had been a +look of pain certainly in his eyes, but then a +satirical smile had played about his lips as he +turned away. He had no particular liking for +him; what made him feel that he would give +anything for power to stop this gauntleting? +</p> + +<p> +To do so was, of course, out of the question. +Reynolds, however, hurried to the front, anxious +to see how his strange companion would +conduct himself. Would he rush through the +ranks quickly, or would he turn sulky? +</p> + +<p> +Apparently Donovan meant to strike out in a +new line. As he approached the ranks his step +was even more dignified, his bearing more erect +than ever. His face was set like a flint, but +expressed as plainly as if he had spoken—"I +don't deserve this, you contemptible curs; but +do your worst, it amuses you and will not kill +me." +</p> + +<p> +Blow after blow fell on his unbent shoulders, +hisses greeted him on every side, but still there +was no faintest token that he felt pain, still the +lofty indifference was unbroken. But lower +down the ranks, waiting for his approach with +feverish impatience, was Harrison, one of his +fags. Harrison was vindictive, and he thought +himself deeply injured. Some of the boys had +made him into a little hero, some regarded him +as a sneak; between the two he had grown +exasperated, and to revenge himself he had +concealed a sharp stone in the end of his scarf. +His foe drew near; Harrison, disregarding all +rules, and too angry to think of the serious +harm he might do, aimed a blow directly at his +forehead. +</p> + +<p> +Donovan staggered back a pace, but recovered +himself in an instant. The blow had fallen +barely half an inch above his left temple, the +blood was streaming down the side of his face. +He saw it on his clothes—his own blood shed +by the veriest little rascal. The sight +maddened him. A great cry of "Shame! shame! +Unfair!" came to him. Unfair! of course it was +unfair! the whole world was unfair! He would +crush this one bit of unfairness, though; and he +gathered himself together, evidently with the +intention of dealing Harrison a fearful blow. +No one interfered, everyone was disgusted with +the fag's meanness; there was a breathless +silence. The unlucky Harrison felt the air +vibrate around him as that strong arm +descended. The blow would have silenced him +very effectually, but it was suddenly checked. +The littleness of his foe seemed to strike +Donovan; with a tremendous effort of will he drew +back all quivering with repressed indignation. +</p> + +<p> +"You young blackguard!" he exclaimed, not +loudly, but with an emphasis which made the +words heard by all present—with a force which +made Harrison turn sick and giddy. +</p> + +<p> +Then, moving away, he would have gone on +his course, but the boys who a few minutes +before had been delighting in his humiliation +were now ready to make a hero of him; Harrison's +breach of rules had been abominable. +Farrant's splendid self-control had been apparent +to everyone; the schoolboy sense of honour +was touched. They cheered him now as +vehemently as they had hissed him before; they +gathered round him with offers of help with +vociferous admiration, they would have borne +him in triumph on their shoulders, but he waved +them back, and walked steadily on towards the +school-house. What was their admiration to +him? His blood unjustly shed was streaming +down his face, a lifelong sense of injustice was +rankling in his heart; those ringing cheers were +utterly powerless to affect him in any way. +</p> + +<p> +And all this time Colonel Farrant waited +within the house. He had seen the head-master, +had heard the particulars of his son's +disgrace, and now he was waiting alone at his +own request, trying to face this sorrow, trying +to endure this terrible new shame. He was a +middle-aged man, tall and soldierly; his +features were almost exactly similar to those of +his son, but his expression was so much more +gentle that at first sight the likeness did not +seem at all striking. Grief and disappointment +were expressed in his very attitude as he sat +waiting wearily with his head resting on his +hand; and the disappointment had not been +caused by Donovan only. He had returned +from India only two days before to re-join the +wife and children whom he had not seen for +years, and somehow the home was not quite +what he had expected, and the long separation +seemed either to have altered his wife or to +have raised a sort of barrier between them. He +had been absorbed in his work, had been leading +a singularly self-denying active life; she +had been absorbed in herself, and had allowed +circumstances to drift her along unresistingly. +No wonder that Colonel Farrant had already +found how few interests he and his wife had in +common, no wonder that, even in the brief time +since his return, he had realised that his two +children were growing up in a home which +could not possibly influence them for good. +Bitterly did he now regret that love of his +work and dislike of the quiet life of a country +gentleman had kept him so long in India. +Mrs. Farrant's reception of the news of Donovan's +disgrace had perhaps more than anything +revealed the true state of matters to her husband. +What to him was a terrible grief was to her +merely "very tiresome;" she hoped people +would not hear about it, lamented the +inconvenience of having the boy home just as they +were going up to town for the season, spoke in +soft languid tones of his wilfulness, but +evidently was quite incapable of feeling keenly +about anything so far removed from her own +personal concerns. +</p> + +<p> +Donovan must not come home to that, the +Colonel felt that it would be ruination to him. +He must go himself to the school, find out the +whole truth, learn something of his son's real +character, and, if possible, win his love before +taking him back to the doubtful influence of +that strangely disappointing home. +</p> + +<p> +Waiting now in the quiet room, with the slow +monotonous ticking of the clock, with the May +sunshine streaming in upon him, the Colonel +tried to recall Donovan as he was at their last +parting years and years ago at Malta. How +well he remembered the little bright-eyed merry +child of three years old! what a wrench it had +been to leave him when his regiment had been +ordered out to India, and the little boy—their +only child then—had been sent back alone to +England. And this was the same boy whom +he came to-day to find disgraced and expelled! +How was it possible that his little high-spirited, +loving child should have become a thief, a bully, +a breaker of rules? He could not believe it. And +yet the head-master told him that Donovan had +with his own lips confessed that he was guilty! +</p> + +<p> +A sound of footsteps without, some one +speaking in a tone of remonstrance, roused him, +and then another voice, indignant and vehement, +made him start to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +"Leave me alone! I will see him now, at +once, as I am!" +</p> + +<p> +And the door was thrown open, and the +vision of the merry three-year-old child faded +suddenly, and in its place stood the son of to-day, +haggard, bloodstained, miserable, only upheld +by a desperate resolve to face the worst. +</p> + +<p> +Donovan looked at once straight into his father's +eyes to read there what he had to prepare himself +for, and the very first expression he read was +neither anger, nor shame, nor disappointment, +but only love and pity. His father's hand was +on his shoulder, his right hand clasped his, and, +when he spoke, there was not the slightest +sound of upbraiding in his tone. +</p> + +<p> +"Dono—my poor boy!" +</p> + +<p> +That was too much even for Donovan's hardihood. +He had braced himself to endure anger or +reproach, or cold displeasure—but to be met in +this way! For the first time an agony of +remorse surged up in his heart. If only he could +live his school days over again how different +they should be! +</p> + +<p> +Presently the father and son left the school, +and, as they made their way to the station, +Colonel Farrant spoke of the plan he had made. +He had some business to transact at Plymouth; +he thought they would go down there together, +and perhaps spend a week in South Devon or +Cornwall before going back to Oakdene. +Donovan evidently liked this idea, but in another +minute his face suddenly changed. +</p> + +<p> +"I had forgotten Dot. What a brute I am!" +he exclaimed. "She will be expecting me, I +mustn't disappoint her." +</p> + +<p> +Somehow that sentence cheered Colonel +Farrant wonderfully. +</p> + +<p> +Dot, his little invalid girl, had in a measure +comforted him the day before by her evident +devotion to Donovan; he had hardly dared to hope, +however, that the love was mutual, or that, in +his disgrace and sorrow, Donovan would yet +have a thought to spare for his sister. +</p> + +<p> +"Dot will not expect us," he said in reply. +"I told her that we should not come home for +a few days. She sent you this." +</p> + +<p> +They were in the train now. Donovan took +the little three-cornered note from his father. +It was written faintly in pencil, but in spite of +the straggling letters and wild spelling it +brought the tears to his eyes. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"DARLING DON," it began, "I am so sory. +Papa has told me all abowt it, and he has been +verry kind. I don't think he bileves all the +horid things they say off you, and I never, +never will, Don dear. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + "Your loving<br> + "DOT."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The long, strange journey ended at last, but +by that time Donovan's physical weariness was +so intense that it overpowered everything else. +As he threw himself on his bed that night, he +could feel nothing but relief that at length this +longest and most painful day of his life was +over. The future was a yawning blackness, +the past a horrid confusion, but he would face +neither past nor future, the present was all he +needed; in utter exhaustion of both mind and +body he fell asleep. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap02"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER II. +<br><br> +A RETROSPECT. +</h2> + +<p class="intro"> + The canker galls the infants of the spring,<br> + Too oft before their buttons be disclosed,<br> + And in the morn and liquid dew of youth<br> + Contagious blastments are most imminent.<br> + <i>Hamlet.</i><br> +</p> + +<p class="intro"> + God's possible is taught by His world's loving,<br> + And the children doubt of each.<br> + E. B. BROWNING.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +How was it that his son was so different from +what he had expected? That was the +question which continually recurred to Colonel +Farrant, as, with all the chilliness of an old +Indian, he sat beside the fire that May evening +in one of the private sitting-rooms of the Royal +Hotel. How was it that the child, whom he +remembered as high-spirited, loving, and +demonstrative, had become proud, and cold, and +repressed? It could not all be owing to the +sense of his present disgrace, though that no +doubt accounted for it in part; but there was a +restless unsatisfied expression, for which the +disgrace did not account, and which appeared +to be habitual to him. Perhaps, had Colonel +Farrant known all the details of his boy's life +during the years in which he had been separated +from him, he might not have felt so much +perplexed. +</p> + +<p> +Donovan had a wonderfully good memory, +and, though he had only been three years old +when he parted with his father and mother at +Malta, he carried away a certain kind of +remembrance of them—a dim vision of a mother +who always wore pretty dresses, and of a father +who was always ready to play with him, and +could roar like a bear. With these recollections +he set sail for England, and was handed over +by the acquaintance who had taken care of him +during the voyage to the charge of an elderly +woman in black, who was waiting for him when +he landed at Southampton. The elderly +woman's name was Mrs. Doery, and, as they made +their way to the station, she informed Donovan +that she was his grandfather's housekeeper, and +that he must always do what she told him. +Upon this, Donovan looked up at once to +scrutinize her face, to judge what sort of things she +was likely to tell him to do, and, child though +he was, he could see that Mrs. Doery would be +no easy mistress. Her long hooked nose and +prominent chin were of the nut-cracker order, +the corners of her mouth were turned down, +her eyes were clear but disagreeably piercing, +and her whole aspect, though irreproachably +respectable, was, to say the least of it, +forbidding. Donovan tried to find some reason for +her name, but she was singularly unlike the +soft-eyed doe in the animal picture-book; in +time, however, he discovered that there was +another kind of dough, and thought he quite +understood the reason of Mrs. Doery's name +then, for her face was exactly of that whitish +yellow colour, and, in spite of all remonstrances, +he would call her nothing else from that day +forth but "Doughy." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Doery asserted her authority at once; it +was a hot summer's day, and Donovan, as he +walked down the platform, complained of thirst, +and begged for something to drink. He had +caught a glimpse of some of his little acquaintance +on board ship standing within the refreshment-room +with tumblers of delicious-looking +milk in their hands, and this made him feel an +uncomfortable craving for some. But Mrs. Doery +gave a decided negative—they would be +home at his grandfather's in good time for tea; +if he was hot, that was the very reason why he +should not drink; she was not going to allow +bits and snacks between meals, and he had +better put such fancies out of his head directly. +</p> + +<p> +Old Mr. Farrant had two houses—Oakdene +Manor, a country house which he had built for +himself in one of the western counties, and an +old family house, standing in the main street +of a little country town at no great distance +from London. It was to the latter place that +Mrs. Doery conducted her little charge on the +day of his arrival, for her master had lately +had a paralytic stroke, and had given up all +thoughts of re-visiting his newly-built house, +which, after standing empty for some time, was +eventually let to strangers. It was in the old +red-brick house, with its narrow windows, and +dark rooms, and stately solid old furniture, that +Donovan's childhood was to be passed. +</p> + +<p> +And somehow his childhood was not a happy +one. He was very lonely, to begin with; there +were no children of his own age whom Mrs. Doery +thought fit to associate with him; his +grandfather, though very fond of him, was too +ill and helpless to be his companion; there was +no father at hand to play at "bear" with him, +and Mrs. Doery, though she was often excessively +cross, could not in any other respect +imitate that favourite animal of the nursery. +Then he had so little to do. Mrs. Doery had +at first instructed him daily in the three R's, +and he proved very slow with the reading, only +tolerable with the writing, but alarmingly quick +with the arithmetic. He took to the +multiplication-table, as Mrs. Doery expressed it, "like +ducks to water;" he answered the questions in +the book of mental arithmetic with a lightning +speed which fairly baffled the housekeeper, +and before he was five years old the longest +sum in any of the first four rules would not +keep him quiet for more than two minutes. +But then certainly by this time he had taken to +working problems in his sleep, and would +awaken Mrs. Doery in the middle of the night +by proclaiming in excited tones that if sheep +were 39<i>s.</i> each, a flock of forty-five sheep would +be worth £87, 15<i>s.</i>, or some equally abstruse +calculation. Mrs. Doery naturally liked to have +her nights undisturbed; moreover, she had +sense enough to be rather alarmed at this +precocity, so she asked the doctor to look at +Master Donovan, and the doctor, seeing at once +that he was a clever, delicate, excitable child, +strongly recommended that all lessons should +be stopped till he was seven years old. +Mrs. Doery obeyed this injunction strictly, and a +time of woe to poor Donovan ensued; "don't +do that" seemed to follow everything he +attempted. He was not allowed to run about +in the nursery, because Mrs. Doery "couldn't +abide a noise," or in old Mr. Farrant's room, +because "it was unfeeling to his poor +grandfather;" if he ventured to make such a thing +as a figure everything in the shape of a pencil +was at once confiscated, and when he rebelled +he was whipped. +</p> + +<p> +For a little while he amused himself by turning +the letters in his picture-book into figures +and calculating with them, but Mrs. Doery +soon found that he was up to no good, and +forbade him to open a book without her leave. +He was naturally bright and energetic, but he fell +now into listless lounging habits, his high spirits +breaking forth now and then, and carrying him +into all kinds of mischief. He was very +self-willed, and his battles with the housekeeper +were numerous, but, though his will was quite +as strong as hers, he was generally forced +into a sort of grudging, resentful submission, +for Mrs. Doery had what seemed to him a very +unfair advantage in the shape of a stinging +lithe cane, and though, when Donovan kicked +or struck her, he felt miserable the next +moment, she never seemed to feel the least +compunction in hurting him, but on the contrary +appeared to find a grim satisfaction in his +chastisement. +</p> + +<p> +It was all very puzzling, Donovan could not +understand it, but then there were so few +things he could understand, except the problems +about the sheep and such like. Mrs. Doery +found him difficult to manage, and therefore +told him that he was the worst boy she had +ever known, and the more she impressed his +badness upon him, the more he felt that for such +a bad boy nothing mattered, and the less pains +did he take to obey her. +</p> + +<p> +And so the years passed slowly by, and at +last in the spring, before Donovan's seventh +birthday, old Mr. Farrant had another paralytic +stroke and died. Donovan cried a good deal, +for though his grandfather had never been able +to speak to him, yet he had always looked +kindly at him and had seemed pleased that he +should come into his room, and the little lonely +boy had been thankful for that silent love, and +was the truest—perhaps the only true mourner +at his grandfather's funeral. +</p> + +<p> +The old house seemed in a sort of dreary +excitement all through the week preceding the +funeral, and Donovan saw several people whom +he had never seen before, among others his +father's cousin, Mr. Ellis Farrant, a dark +handsome man of eight and twenty, who patronised +the little boy considerably, and held his hand +while the Burial Service was being read, an +indignity which Donovan resented keenly, +trying hard to wriggle away from him. In the +evening, however, he began to like his new +cousin better; the doctor and most of the other +guests left early in the afternoon, but Cousin +Ellis and the lawyer from London were to stay +the night, as they had to look over old +Mr. Farrant's papers, a work which did not seem to +occupy them very long, for when Donovan +went shyly into the library with a message +from Mrs. Doery, to know when it would be +convenient to them to dine, Ellis Farrant +declared that they had looked through everything +and would have dinner at once, and then, with +the bland, patronising smile which Donovan +disliked so much, added that the little boy +must certainly stay and dine with them too. +</p> + +<p> +Patronage was unpleasant, but then late +dinner downstairs presented great attractions to +seven-year-old Donovan, and quite turned the +scale in Cousin Ellis's favour. He sat bolt +upright in one of the great, slippery leather +chairs, so as to make the most of his height, +and, though his grief was perfectly sincere, he +nevertheless felt a certain melancholy pride in +his new black suit, and a delightful sense of +dignity and importance in dining with the two +gentlemen. The conversation did not interest +him at all, excepting once, when he heard his +father's name mentioned, and then he listened +attentively. +</p> + +<p> +"Captain Farrant appointed you as one of +his trustees, I believe," said the lawyer. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, in the will he made at the time of his +marriage, which was the most terse will ever +heard of; very little more than, 'All to my +wife!'" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, well," said the lawyer, laughing, +"though it's against my own interests to say +so, it's the concise wills which answer best; +and no doubt this little man will be no real +loser for receiving his property through his +mother." +</p> + +<p> +Donovan grew very sleepy at dessert, and +found it difficult to maintain his upright +position. The gentlemen sat long over their wine, +and he was beginning to wonder drowsily why +people eat and drink so much more in the +dining-room than in the nursery, when he was +roused by hearing his own name. +</p> + +<p> +"Look here, little man"—it was Cousin Ellis +who was speaking—"are there any cards in the +house?" +</p> + +<p> +"Cards? Oh! yes, lots!" said Donovan, +rubbing his eyes. "They came after grandpapa's +last stroke, with 'kind inquiries' on them, +Mrs. Doery said." +</p> + +<p> +Cousin Ellis and the lawyer laughed heartily. +</p> + +<p> +"Not those cards, but playing-cards, Dono. +Didn't I see a card-table in the library?" +</p> + +<p> +But Donovan only looked completely puzzled, +and his surprise was great when, on adjourning +to the nest room, Ellis Farrant cleared one of +the tables of the books and papers which had +accumulated on it, and, with the slightest push, +turned the top, disclosing in its centre two or +three packs of cards. In another minute the +whole thing was transformed into a square of +green baize, and Cousin Ellis and the lawyer +were shuffling the cards for their game. +Donovan was not at all sleepy now. He felt all a +child's delighted curiosity in something which +was new and mysterious, and then, too, what +splendid things these would be to calculate +with; he wished he had found their hiding-place +before. +</p> + +<p> +"Do tell me their names. Do let me watch +you," he begged. +</p> + +<p> +And Ellis Farrant, who was in good humour +at having found something to while away his +dull evening, took the little boy on his knee, +and while he played taught him his cards. +</p> + +<p> +To hear once was to remember with Donovan. +He not only learnt the names of the +cards, but began to understand the principles +of the game, and pleaded hard to be allowed to +play too. But neither Cousin Ellis nor the +lawyer would believe in his capabilities for +<i>écarté</i>. The lawyer was good-natured, however, +and, seeing the grievous disappointment +in the little boy's face, suggested that they +should let him have a game of <i>vingt-et-un</i>, and +Cousin Ellis complied, limiting the stakes to +threepence, and supplying the penniless Donovan +from his own pocket. +</p> + +<p> +Here was excitement indeed! calculation, +judgment, memory, all called into action at +once! And the little pile of coins before him +was growing with magic speed, and <i>vingt-et-un</i> +fell to him twice running, and the gentlemen +told him laughingly that he was certainly born +to win. It ended long before he wished, and +Cousin Ellis changed his winnings for him into +great bright half-crowns, and he went off to +bed proud, and excited, and victorious, to +play <i>vingt-et-un</i> in his dreams, only being +disturbed now and then by a frightful nightmare +of the queen of spades, grown to gigantic +proportions, sitting on his chest and stifling him. +And so ended Donovan's first introduction to +the "<i>tapis vert</i>." +</p> + +<p> +The next morning Cousin Ellis and the lawyer +left for London, and the child was once more +alone. The terrible flatness and depression +which he felt that day might have been a lesson +to him in after-life, and he never did forget it, +although his experience had to be bought more +dearly. He wandered drearily over the deserted +house, and stole half timidly into the library, +and looked again at the magical table, and felt +the half-crowns in his pocket. But the fascination +and excitement of the previous evening +were gone, and, now that the sensation of +triumph and victory had died away, he did not +greatly care for the money; his head ached, +too; the dreary emptiness of the house +oppressed him; he began to feel that his +grandfather's absence made a great difference to him, +and that there was something very forlorn in +the idea of being left alone with Mrs. Doery. +</p> + +<p> +As time passed, however, he began to grow +accustomed to things, and slipped back into +much the same routine as before; meals, walks, +and pretty frequent fights with Mrs. Doery, +solitary games, fits of wild mischief, whippings, +imprisonments, and vague wonder at the +perplexities of life. His greatest enjoyment was +to steal down into the library, softly to draw +aside one of the shutters, and, when quite +secure that Mrs. Doery was not likely to +interrupt him, to take those wonderful cards from +their hiding-place, and, with a dummy adversary, +to play the two games of which he had +mastered the rules, and various others of his +own invention, always playing his adversary's +cards with the strictest impartiality. +</p> + +<p> +Another occupation there was too which helped +to relieve the tedium of the long days, and this +was carpentering. He was very clever with his +fingers, and, luckily, the housekeeper did not +object much to this pursuit, so long, as she +expressed it, "he didn't do no hurt to the +carpets or hisself." And Donovan obediently +cleared up all his shavings and chips, and +bravely endured his cuts and mishaps in silence. +He became very expert, and one unfortunate +day, when Mrs. Doery had gone out to see a +friend, his ambition rose to such a height that +he resolved to take the nursery clock to pieces +in order to see how it was made, intending, +after he had thoroughly mastered the details, +to put it together again. So to work he went +as soon as the housekeeper was well out of +sight, and, with the aid of pincers, screw-drivers, +and his dexterous little fingers, succeeded in +dissecting the clock. It was wonderfully +interesting work, so interesting that, although he +was studying the anatomy of the recorder of +time, he forgot that there was such a thing as +time at all, and that, although the hands of the +clock were detached from its face, and the +pendulum was lying motionless in his tool-box, the +inexorable old gentleman with the scythe was +travelling at his usual pace, and bringing +tea-time and Mrs. Doery in his train. He had just +settled everything entirely to his own mind, +and arranged which wheels to re-adjust first, +when the door opened; he looked up—and +there stood Mrs. Doery with a face of mingled +astonishment and wrath which baffles description. +It was in vain that Donovan pleaded to +be allowed to set it right, and showed how +neatly he had arranged the pieces; Mrs. Doery +would not listen to a word, but taking the culprit +to his room, gave him the severest whipping be +had ever had, and Donovan cried piteously, not +at all on account of the pain, for he bore that +like a little Trojan, but because he was quite +sure he could put the clock together again if +"Doughy" would only let him. +</p> + +<p> +It was not only by fits of mischief and +wilfulness that Donovan gave the housekeeper +trouble. Soon after his grandfather's death, he +began, as she said, "to plague the very life out +of her with questions." What was this? and +why was that? and what was the reason of the +other? pursued poor Mrs. Doery from morning +till night. Taking the doctor's general +directions into every detail, she had brought up her +little charge in utter ignorance; he knew no +more of religion than the veriest little heathen, +and, though Mrs. Doery had taught him a +short, doggerel prayer to say as he went to sleep, +he was much too matter of fact and logical to +care to say a charm addressed, as far as he +knew, to no one in particular, and for which he +could not understand the reason. It did not +make him any happier to say +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Three in One, and One in Three,<br> + One in Three, save me."<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +It only puzzled him completely, so he left off +saying it. +</p> + +<p> +But the service at his grandfather's funeral +had awakened his curiosity; he could not +understand it, and he could not bear not being +able to understand. Mrs. Doery found herself +obliged to give an answer now and then in +order to quiet him, and Donovan learnt that +people knelt down to "ask God for things," +that "God was a Being who loved good people +and hated bad people," and that "grandpapa +had gone to heaven." +</p> + +<p> +"Why, that's what you always say when +you're surprised!" he exclaimed, when this last +piece of information had been received. "'Good +heaven'! you know. Is heaven a great +surprise? What is heaven?" +</p> + +<p> +"It's a nice place where good folk go," said +Mrs. Doery, as if she grudged the admission. +</p> + +<p> +"Is it in India?" +</p> + +<p> +"Dear heart! The ignorance of the child! +No, it's up in the sky." +</p> + +<p> +"What do they do up there?" +</p> + +<p> +"Sit and sing hymns and say prayers." +</p> + +<p> +"What, like they did at the funeral?" +</p> + +<p> +"Bless the child, I don't know; but you +needn't trouble so about it, for it's only good +boys as goes there." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't want to, I'm sure," said Donovan, +defiantly. "I hate sitting still." +</p> + +<p> +But his mind was not satisfied, and +Mrs. Doery was questioned still further. +</p> + +<p> +"Doughy, what did they mean when they +said grandpapa would never be ill again?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why, folks never are ill in heaven." +</p> + +<p> +"What, never? Oh! that is another reason, +then, why I don't want to go there, for the +nicest time I ever had was when I'd the +measles; you never were so little cross in your +life, Doughy." Mrs. Doery made no comment +on this, and the little boy continued, rather +anxiously, "I suppose, Doughy, you are very +good, aren't you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, Master Donovan, I try to do my duty +by the house, and by you," said Doery, gloomily. +</p> + +<p> +"That's a good thing!" said Donovan, +relieved, "for you see, Doughy, I don't think +we'd better go to the same place, we should +be happier away from each other." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Doery was wonderfully uncommunicative, +but still the little boy occasionally plied her +with fresh questions. One day he came to her +with a perplexity which had long been troubling +him. +</p> + +<p> +"Doughy, who gives us homes?" +</p> + +<p> +"Your papa, of course, Master Donovan." +</p> + +<p> +"And who gave papa his home?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why, your poor grandpapa." +</p> + +<p> +"But who gave the first papa there ever was +his home?" +</p> + +<p> +"Bless the child! how should I know'? I +don't suppose Adam had no home, so to speak." +</p> + +<p> +"Why are some people's homes so much +happier than other people's? It's very unfair." +</p> + +<p> +"The good little boys are happy," said +Mrs. Doery, "and the bad ones aren't." +</p> + +<p> +"Then, if I was never naughty, should I +have a nice home like little Tom Harris, with a +mother to take me out with her." +</p> + +<p> +"That's impossible to say," replied Mrs. Doery, +gravely; "let alone the unlikeliness that +you ever would be good, you see there's all +them past times you was naughty; so you've +not much of a chance." +</p> + +<p> +Poor Donovan went away sadly, and yet +with a great sense of injustice in his childish +mind. That was almost the last question he +troubled Mrs. Doery with. +</p> + +<p> +But, though he was represented as so +incurably bad, he would not entirely bow to +Mrs. Doery's opinion. In his heart of hearts he +cherished an ideal mother, who was to come +back from India, make him good, and fill his +life with happiness; she was to be just like +Mrs. Harris, the grocer's wife, who took her little +boy out walking, only her dresses were to be +prettier, for the one thing he remembered about +his mother was that she always wore pretty +clothes. The events of his life were the arrival +of the Indian letters, in which "papa and +mamma sent their love to Dono;" but these were +few and far between, for, although Mrs. Doery +wrote each mail to give an account of Master +Donovan's well-being, neither Colonel Farrant +nor his wife understood the importance of +keeping their memory green in the remembrance of +their child by writing to him. The Colonel was +absorbed in his work, Mrs. Farrant was absorbed +in herself. Donovan had his ideal mother, +nevertheless, and would rehearse her return, +and talk to her by the hour; and, when Mrs. Doery +took him for his walk, he would put his +hand a little out on the side away from the +housekeeper, making believe that his mother +held it, and would turn his face up, as if he +were talking to her, just as he had seen little +Torn Harris do. +</p> + +<p> +At last one never-to-be-forgotten day Donovan +heard that he had a little baby sister, and before +the novelty and delight of this news had had +time to fade came a second letter with yet more +wonderful tidings, a large letter for Mrs. Doery, +and a little one enclosed for Donovan from his +father—"Mamma and baby were coming to +England to live with Dono, and he must take +great care of them, and try to make them +happy." +</p> + +<p> +Never had the little boy known such intense +happiness, his dream was actually coming true, +mother was coming, mother who would not +mind answering his questions, who would make +him good, who would rescue him from Mrs. Doery's +whippings; he could watch the grocer's +little boy now when he passed by without the +least shade of envy, for in a few weeks would +not he too be walking out with his mother? +</p> + +<p> +He watched the preparations which were +being made in the house with a sense of exultant +happiness, his grave quiet step changed to the +bounding skipping pace of a merry child, and +he was so good that even Mrs. Doery had no +complaint to make of him. Then at length +came the real day of arrival, and Donovan's +feverish impatience was at length rewarded; +a carriage stopped at the door, Mrs. Doery, +smoothing her black apron, bustled out into the +hall, and Donovan rushed headlong down the +white steps to throw his arms round his mother's +neck. But a sudden chill of disappointment +fell on his heart, it was so different from +everything he had planned. The tall pretty-looking +lady stooped to kiss him, indeed, and her voice +was soft and refined, if somewhat languid, as +she exclaimed, "Dear me! what a great boy +you have grown!" but it was not his ideal at +all, not the mother to whom he could tell +everything, or who would care to know. All this +Donovan read in almost the first glance, as +clearly as he had read Mrs. Doery's character +on Southampton Pier. +</p> + +<p> +He followed everyone else into the house and +shut the door, Mrs. Farrant was already on the +way to her room, and did not notice him any +further, and he was too bewildered and +disappointed to care to bestow more than a glance +on the ayah and the little baby in long clothes. +</p> + +<p> +By-and-by, he saw his mother again, but by +this time he had grown shy, and only made the +briefest responses to her questions, and before +long she had disposed herself on the drawing-room +sofa with a book, and he was left standing +at a little distance with a Calcutta costume doll +which she had just given him, and a very heavy +heart. The doll only added to his disappointment. +Surely the ideal mother would have +understood how little he, a boy of eight years +old, would care for a doll? He did not want +presents at all, he wanted the dream-mother +back again, and the conviction that she never +could come back again was terrible indeed. It +got worse and worse as the evening advanced, +and at last he could bear it no longer, but, +wishing his mother good night, crept upstairs +though it was not yet his bed time, and +shutting himself into the cupboard among +Mrs. Doery's dresses gave vent to his misery. He +did not often cry, even at the severest whipping, +but that night he sobbed as though his heart +would break; life had seemed hard and perplexing +already, and now his ideal was gone! +</p> + +<p> +But the loving hand which was guiding +Donovan, though he so little knew it, was not +going to leave him desolate. The perfectly +loving sympathetic mother had indeed been +denied him, but another treasure had been +provided for him, which though it could not fill +entirely the place of the dethroned ideal—the +place which was to be always empty, always +longing to be filled—was yet to call out his +best and strongest feelings. +</p> + +<p> +When at last he checked his sobs and crept +out of the cupboard once more, the first thing +his eyes rested on was the new baby sister +lying asleep in her cradle. He was so miserable +that he would even have thrown himself on +Mrs. Doery's mercy if she had been there, and +in another minute his tears broke forth again, +as he pressed his face close to the baby's and +told her all his trouble. Of course she woke +directly, but he still sobbed out his story. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! baby, I'm so miserable—so miserable—mother +isn't a bit what I expected." +</p> + +<p> +The baby began to cry feebly, and Donovan, +penitent at having disturbed her, took her with +great care and difficulty from her cradle, and +began to rock her in his arms, and as she slept +once more, and as her weight became more and +more difficult to bear, a new sense of love and +protecting care sprang up in the little boy's +heart, and he was comforted. Before long +Mrs. Doery's step was heard without, and Donovan +knew that if he were found he would certainly +be whipped, but to try to put the baby back +in the cradle would be sure to wake her, and +she was worth suffering for. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Doery was of course wrathful, and poor +Donovan went to bed supperless and sore both +inwardly and outwardly; but, as his wistful +eyes closed on that day of disappointment, he +clung to his one comforting thought, the little +sister, his new possession. +</p> + +<p> +As time passed on, the bond between these +two grew stronger and stronger. Donovan +centred all the love of his heart on the frail +little life of the baby. The element of protection +was his most pronounced characteristic; +he was strong, and liked above all things to +have something to take care of. And Dot, as +they called the tiny delicate little girl, needed +any amount of attention. From the very first +everything seemed against her; her Indian +birth, the trying voyage, the want of any real +care from her mother, the miserable mismanagement +of an incompetent doctor, all told grievously +on the delicate little child. She had only +just learnt to walk, or rather to trust herself to +be piloted along by Donovan, when she began +to pine and dwindle, and before long the +hesitating footsteps were hushed for ever, and +Dot lay down upon the couch on which her +little life-drama was to be acted. A fall from +her ayah's arms had, it was supposed, been the +cause of the hip-disease which now declared +itself. For a time everyone was sorry and +disturbed, but soon they became resigned, and +talked about "the dispensations of Providence." Only +Donovan nursed his sorrow and indignation +apart, conscious, in spite of his youth, that +it was human carelessness, human misunderstanding, +which had ruined the only life he +cared for. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime, the lease of Oakdene Manor +came to an end, and Mrs. Farrant and her +children left the house where Donovan's childhood +had been passed, to make their home in +that place which old Mr. Farrant had planned +so carefully, but had never seen. +</p> + +<p> +The change was in some respects good for +Donovan; he was just old enough to take an +interest in the property which would, he +supposed, be his own some day, and he liked the +free country life. But in that comfortable +English home, the apparent model of refinement +and propriety, he grew up somehow into a very +unsatisfactory mortal, unsatisfactory to himself +as well as to others. He was scarcely to be +blamed perhaps, for, with the exception of +little Dot, there was not one good influence in +the Manor household. +</p> + +<p> +His mother's intense selfishness was perfectly +apparent to him; he accepted it now with a sort +of cold indifference when it only affected +himself. It was so, and there was an end of the +matter; he just put up with it. But, when +Mrs. Farrant's entire absorption in self affected Dot, +Donovan's indignation was always roused; +there was an almost fierce gleam in his eyes +when he found Dot suffering from the +unmotherliness which had chilled and cramped his +own life. +</p> + +<p> +What, however, told most fatally on him was +his mother's conventional religion. Mrs. Farrant +went to church because it was proper, and +insisted on her son's accompanying her. He +obeyed, but went with a sort of stubborn +disgust, hating to share in this act of hypocrisy. +He was naturally acute, and at a very early age +he found out that the lives of all the professing +Christians around him were diametrically opposed +to the principles of Christianity. It was +all a hideous mockery, a hollow profession; +even as a child he came to the sweeping +conclusion, "They are all shams, these Christian +people," and naturally went on to the +resolution, "I at least will profess nothing." +</p> + +<p> +His views received a sort of amused +encouragement from his tutor, a man whom +Mrs. Farrant had been delighted to secure for her +son, because he was "so highly connected, such +a very gentlemanly man." Mr. Alleyne was, +however, in spite of his high connections, +entirely unfit to be the tutor of a boy like +Donovan. He was clever, but shallow, and he +had dabbled in science, and rather prided himself +on being able to appreciate the difficulties +which great minds found in reconciling the new +discoveries of science and the old faiths. He +quoted Tyndall and Huxley with great aptness, +and, though on occasion he was quite capable +of appearing to be exceedingly orthodox, yet +he was rather fond of styling himself an +Agnostic when quite sure of his audience. He was +not a sincere man; he liked talking of his +"intellectual difficulties," and regarded +scepticism as "not bad form now-a-days." When +Mr. Alleyne found that his pupil was, as he +termed it, "a thorough-going young atheist," +he was a little amused and a good deal +interested. He was not at all unwilling to forsake +the more ordinary routine, and, throwing aside +the classics, he allowed Donovan to devote most +of his time to scientific subjects, which were far +more interesting to both teacher and pupil. +</p> + +<p> +Donovan had no respect for his tutor, but he +was a good deal influenced by him. When by +his father's desire he was sent at last to a public +school, he was just in the state to derive all the +evil and none of the good from school life. He +had grown up in isolation, and he was naturally +reserved, so that he did not easily make friends, +and he was too wilful and incomprehensible to +be a favourite with the masters. In mathematics, +indeed, he could beat every opponent +with ease, and carried off several prizes, but his +success was merely that of natural talent, and +never of industry, so that even to himself it +brought little satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +And all the time slowly strengthening and +developing was the intense love of play which +had shown itself in his earliest childhood. Ellis +Farrant had crossed his path several times since +their first meeting, and Donovan, though he did +not like his cousin, always enjoyed his visits, +for then his passion could be gratified, and his +monotonous and already unsatisfying life could +be broken by the most delicious of all excitements. +</p> + +<p> +Later on came the temptation at school; the +suggestion made by a weaker and more timid +boy was carried out unscrupulously by Donovan, +his conscience completely overmastered by the +thirst for self-gratification. Then followed +exposure, disgrace, some injustice, and a most +bitter humiliation. +</p> + +<p> +His school-days were abruptly ended. What +was now to become of him? +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap03"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER III. +<br><br> +THE TREMAINS OF PORTHKERRAN. +</h2> + +<p class="intro"> + "But faith beyond our sight may go,"<br> + He said; "the gracious Fatherhood<br> + Can only know above, below,<br> + Eternal purposes of good.<br> + From our free heritage of will<br> + The bitter springs of pain and ill<br> + Flow only in all worlds. The perfect day<br> + Of God is shadowless, and love is love alway."<br> + WHITTIER.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Golden sunshine, clear blue sky, the fresh +green of spring, and a light delicious sea +breeze—all this outward beauty and gladness +there was on the morning after Colonel Farrant +and his son had arrived at Plymouth. And yet +surely never had heart felt more heavy, never +had existence felt more unbearable, than +Donovan's as he walked slowly and dejectedly on +the Hoe. Colonel Farrant had left the hotel +early in order to get his business settled, and +Donovan, with a restless craving for something +to divert his mind from his disgrace, had +wandered out alone. He was not very successful +in his search for peace, for the more he struggled +to find interest or diversion in all around, the +more he felt the bitter pangs of remorse and +angry resentment. Groups of happy noisy +children were playing on the grass, and he +thought of his own lonely repressed childhood, +and felt that the lots of men were unjustly and +unequally arranged. His head ached miserably +from the effects of yesterday's blow, and the +gauntleting had left him so stiff and bruised +that every movement was painful; the mere +physical discomfort made it impossible for him +to forget himself or his troubles for a minute. +</p> + +<p> +He stood on the highest point of the Hoe, +and looked at the exquisite view before him—the +stately ships at anchor in the Sound, Drake's +Island, with its miniature citadel, Mount +Edgcumbe, with its beautifully wooded banks, and +its foliage fringing the water, the clear +sharply-defined line of the breakwater, and, far out over +the sparkling dancing waves, the distant +Eddystone. And yet, though he could not be +altogether insensible to the beauty of the scene, +the brightness and rejoicing, even the industry +and success which he saw, made him more angry +and resentful, more hopeless and despairing. +Was not he disgraced, humiliated? and, at the +same time, had not his faults been unjustly +exaggerated, his punishment unjustly given? +Life seemed one long perplexity, and now he +felt utterly hopeless, utterly purposeless, for +success and pleasure had been his chief objects +hitherto, and now he felt that he had failed +shamefully, and that the failure was so great +that all pleasure in life was over. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, in spite of his remorse and misery, he +was neither repentant nor humble, for +Mrs. Doery's early training had ruined him in this +respect. The soft, pliable years of his childhood +had been left in utter ignorance, and when his +powers of reason and calculation had been well +roused and brought into action, he was presented +with the image of a God always watching +to detect sin, always in readiness to punish, +a hard, stern, inexorable Judge, who admitted +fortunate people to heaven, and dismissed +unfortunate people to hell, with strict impartiality +and entire absence of feeling. No wonder that +an angry sense of injustice grew up in Donovan's +heart, no wonder that he turned from the +cruelly false representation which was offered +him, and steadily refused to believe in it. And +when, in course of time, he heard other and +truer views than these, his heart had grown +hard, and he had become so accustomed to rely +on himself and his natural strength of will that +he felt no need of higher help. Moreover, +religion required that he should own himself to +be utterly weak and God all-powerful, and he +would own neither the one nor the other. Even +now, with his sense of failure and misery, he +would not yield; fate had been against him, +he was sorry to have brought disgrace on his +father, he was angry and indignant with the +world, and dissatisfied with himself, but that +was all. +</p> + +<p> +Two vessels in the Sound had just weighed +anchor. He watched them with a listless +interest, wondering whither they were bound, +and what would become of them; whether +they would safely reach their destination, or +whether a cruel fate would cast them on rocks +or quicksands, to be hopelessly, irretrievably +wrecked. A fate to be struggled against! It +was his notion of life; and, as the stately ships +left the harbour and sailed out into the +immeasurable expanse beyond, he turned away +with a firmer, more decided step, and a less +dejected heart; fate had been against him all +his life, but he would not despair. He would +conquer fate by the power of his will, he would +live yet to be an honour to his father! +</p> + +<p> +Colonel Farrant's business did not detain him +very long, and, as soon as lunch was over, he +suggested that they might as well at least +begin their tour that afternoon. Donovan was +relieved at the proposal, and assisted in the +choice of a horse and dog-cart with resolute if +somewhat forced cheerfulness. His father was +further than ever from understanding him now, +and began to doubt whether the driving tour +would be a success; but, with all his perplexing +contradictions, Donovan was very loveable, +and his eager questions as to the Colonel's +Indian life could not but be gratifying to the +father's heart. He, for his part, however, was a +much less successful questioner, and could elicit +very little as to his son's past life, for Donovan +was reserved by nature, and had been made +still more so by his education. He drew an +impenetrable veil over his childhood, and +answered all allusions to his mother with quick +abrupt monosyllables; for he was far too proud +to be a grumbler, and indeed his grievances +were too deep to bear speaking of. Little Dot +was the only subject upon which he talked +naturally and unreservedly, and Colonel +Farrant was glad to make the most of this. +</p> + +<p> +Once, inadvertently, they touched on the +subject of his school disgrace. +</p> + +<p> +"How is your forehead to-day?" asked the +Colonel, after they had driven some little way +in silence. +</p> + +<p> +"Painful; but not worse than might be +expected," replied Donovan. "It's hard lines to +have to suffer from a rascally dishonourable +breach of rules." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm afraid, Dono, you are hardly in a position +to talk about breaches of honour," said his +father, gravely and sadly. +</p> + +<p> +It was his only word of reproach, if reproach +it could be called, but its gentleness made +Donovan feel more than ever what a man his father +was, and the thought of the trouble he had +brought upon him overwhelmed him anew with +shame and sorrow. +</p> + +<p> +Colonel Farrant, noticing the sudden change +of expression, was touched, and hastily changed +the subject. Before long, too, the weather +claimed their attention, the sky, which had +been bright and clear when they left Plymouth, +was now black and threatening, while the light +breeze of the morning was growing stronger +and keener. Everything betokened a storm, +and before long the rain descended in torrents, +drenching the occupants of the dog-cart to the +skin, while the western wind blew so strongly +and gustily that to hold an umbrella was out of +the question. For himself Donovan rather +enjoyed it. There was a sort of pleasure in +being buffeted by wind and rain, but he was +anxious for his father, as he knew he was subject +to severe attacks of rheumatism, consequent +on rheumatic fever. They resolved to stop at +the first place they came to, and at last, to +their relief, they reached a quaint little fishing +town, which boasted a very fair inn. +</p> + +<p> +But, in spite of warm rooms, a good dinner, +and a change of clothes, Donovan's fears were +realized. The next day his father was entirely +incapacitated by rheumatism, and to proceed +was an impossibility; the rain, too, continued +without intermission, and everything seemed to +augur some little stay at Porthkerran. +</p> + +<p> +The day passed slowly and wearily. Donovan +wrote letters at his father's dictation, read +the <i>Western Morning News</i> from beginning to +end, and finally set out, notwithstanding the rain, +to reconnoitre the place. On coming in again, +he found his father so much worse, and suffering +such pain from his heart, that he tried hard +to get leave to go for the doctor, but Colonel +Farrant did not take to the idea. +</p> + +<p> +"There is nothing to be done. I've had +these attacks dozens of times," he replied, +reassuringly. "Besides, ten to one we should +only find a quack in this outlandish place." +</p> + +<p> +"The landlord says there's a first-rate doctor +named Tremain, do let me send a line to him," +said Donovan, anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, well, perhaps if I'm not better to-morrow +we'll have him. I'm sorry to keep you +in this dull place, my boy, but to-morrow if it's +fine we will try to push on." +</p> + +<p> +Colonel Farrant spoke cheerfully, and as if +he really hoped to be well again before long, +and yet Donovan could not shake off an uneasy +dissatisfied feeling, which returned to him more +and more strongly after each visit to his +father's room. They had a great deal of talk +that evening, and Donovan began to feel that +home would be very different now that his +father had returned, more like the ideal home +he used to fancy. Colonel Farrant, too, was +immensely relieved and cheered, for his +sickness and helplessness had brought to light +many of Donovan's best qualities, his strength, +his tenderness, and his ready observance, while +his evident anxiety seemed to speak well for +his awakening love. +</p> + +<p> +It would be hard to say which was the more +disappointed when, on the Thursday morning, +Colonel Farrant proved to be rather worse than +better. He was suffering so much, when Donovan +went into his room in the early morning, +that he could no longer say anything against +the plan for calling Dr. Tremain, and Donovan +dispatched a messenger at once with a note to +the doctor, and before half an hour had passed +was called down into the little sitting-room +to receive him. +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Tremain was standing by the window +when he entered, and Donovan, glancing at him +rather curiously, was at once prepossessed in +his favour. He was a middle-aged man, but +looked younger than he really was, in spite of +evident signs of ill-health; his brown eyes were +clear and shining, and there was a kindly light +in them which was very attractive, his forehead +was high and very finely developed, his features +were regular and good, while a long light +brown beard concealed the one defect of the +face, a slightly receding chin. +</p> + +<p> +Donovan was a rather good judge of character; +his first sensation was one of relief that he +had found a man whom he could trust, and who +would probably understand his father's case; +his next was one of surprise that anyone so +refined, and evidently so clever, should remain +buried in a Cornish village. He led the way at +once to Colonel Farrant's room, and then waited +anxiously below for the report. The doctor's +visit was a long one, and when at length he +came downstairs Donovan was alarmed to find +that he spoke very seriously of Colonel Farrant's +illness. The rheumatic fever had left his heart +weak, of that Donovan was aware, but +Dr. Tremain spoke of really grave symptoms of +further mischief, aggravated, no doubt, by the +fatigue of his return from India, and by the +chill which he had taken during the drive to +Porthkerran. +</p> + +<p> +"And any mental shock, any trouble, would +that be likely to affect him?" asked Donovan, +speaking calmly though his heart began to +beat very uncomfortably: +</p> + +<p> +"It might, yes, it probably would," replied +the doctor, "but he told me of nothing of the +sort." +</p> + +<p> +"No, I didn't think he would," said +Donovan, controlling his voice with difficulty, "but +he has had great and unexpected trouble; I have +given him trouble." +</p> + +<p> +The confession, coming from one evidently +so reserved, had a strange pathos; Dr. Tremain +held out his hand warmly. +</p> + +<p> +"That must make the anxiety doubly trying +to you; but do not be despondent, this afternoon +I may be able to give a better account; in +the meantime only see that your father is kept +perfectly quiet." +</p> + +<p> +Donovan had been miserable enough before, +but this news added tenfold to his misery. At +Colonel Farrant's request, he wrote at once to +his mother, giving her full particulars of his +father's state, and describing the kind of +accommodation which was to be had at Porthkerran, +if she thought of coming down to nurse him; +he added these details because his father told +him to, but he himself did not think for a +moment that she would come, she always +shrank from witnessing pain, and even disliked +being in little Dot's room for any length of +time. +</p> + +<p> +As Donovan wrote, Colonel Farrant lay perfectly +still, thinking deeply, and when in the +afternoon Dr. Tremain made his second visit, +and could still give no more favourable report, +the subject of his anxiety was revealed. +</p> + +<p> +"Doctor, have you any lawyer in the place +who would draw up a will for me?" +</p> + +<p> +"There is one ordinarily," said Dr. Tremain. +"But Mr. Turner is away now; I am afraid +there is no one nearer than Plymouth." +</p> + +<p> +"I have been thinking things over," said the +Colonel. "It is many years since my former +will was made, and, owing to many changes, I +feel that it will be better to make an alteration. +I feel fidgety and anxious to get things settled, +it is provoking that there is no lawyer here." +</p> + +<p> +"I do not know that you need feel any +immediate anxiety," said the doctor; "what I +have told you need not necessarily affect your +life for many years." +</p> + +<p> +"No, but it may affect it at any moment," +said the Colonel, gravely. "I want to be +prepared, I want to have everything in order for +my boy." +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Tremain, aware that worry or anxiety +was very bad for his patient, thought of the +best means of re-assuring his mind, and, after +a moment's consideration, suggested that he +should write both briefly and clearly his own +wishes until a formal will could be drawn +up. Colonel Farrant was much relieved by +the idea, and directed the doctor to ask +Donovan for a sheet of paper, upon which +Dr. Tremain wrote at his dictation a clear and +properly worded form, expressing his desire to +devise and bequeath the bulk of his property to +his son, Donovan Farrant, and providing an +ample allowance for his widow during her life. +Then one of the servants and the doctor +himself witnessed the will, and the Colonel lay +back again relieved and satisfied. +</p> + +<p> +They were still talking on the subject when +Donovan's voice was heard without; it was just +post time, and he knew his father had a letter +to send. +</p> + +<p> +"I do not wish my son to see this, I wish +him to know nothing of the transaction," said +the Colonel, quickly. +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Tremain had, however, already given +the word of admittance, and Colonel Farrant. +starting up hurriedly, took the will from the +table and put it into the doctor's hand. +</p> + +<p> +"Take it, take it, and not a word." +</p> + +<p> +There was a sudden pause; Donovan came +towards the bed just in time to see his father +fall forward, and to hear a slight sound in his +throat, of which he did not know the meaning. +Dr. Tremain gave an inarticulate exclamation, +raised the inanimate form and bent down close +to it; then he glanced to the other side of the +bed, to that other form almost as still and +inanimate, to that other face, white, rigid, and +agonized, and saw there was no need of words; +Donovan understood that his father was dead. +</p> + +<p> +All that a thoroughly good, thoroughly +unselfish man can do at such a time Dr. Tremain +did. He felt the most intense pity for +Donovan left thus utterly alone, with a burden +of remorse on his conscience, and this overwhelming +grief at his heart; but it was difficult +to be of much use to one so completely stunned +and paralysed, and the doctor could only +persuade him to leave the room. +</p> + +<p> +Donovan moved away mechanically, and +went down below to the little sitting-room. +He felt scarcely anything but a dim, vague, +undefined horror, a consciousness of a sudden +blank in his life. The shock had been so great +that, for the time, all his faculties were numbed, +and he scarcely heard the doctor's words; he +stood by the mantelpiece perfectly silent, +perfectly motionless, with his eyes fixed on the +centre ornament, a little tawdry shell house +mounted on a board strewn with dried +seaweeds. How many times he had dreamily +calculated the number of Cornish cowries which +would be needed to adorn fifty houses he did +not know, but he was roused at length by the +doctor's hand on his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +"If I can be of any use in sending off any +telegrams for you, or helping you in any other +way, pray tell me." +</p> + +<p> +The words seemed to rouse Donovan, the +rigid stillness of his face changed suddenly, the +look of suffering deepened. +</p> + +<p> +"My mother, I must let her know." +</p> + +<p> +He sat down by the table and hid his face in +his hands, battling with his emotion. The +doctor had brought paper and pen; he offered +to write the telegram, but at the proposal +Donovan raised his head once more, and, with +perfect control and calmness, took the pen in +his hand and wrote, without a moment's pause +or hesitation, the brief words which were to +convey the news of Colonel Farrant's death to +the rector of the church near Oakdene. He was +the only person fit to break the news to +Mrs. Farrant, the only person Donovan could think +of at all, except Mrs. Doery or Ellis Farrant, +and from them he instinctively shrank. +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Tremain promised to see that the +message was sent, and then very reluctantly took +leave, trying, as he walked along the wet +muddy road, to think of any means by which +he could help the poor boy who seemed left in +such a miserable friendless state. But it was +a difficult question, and the doctor had arrived +at no satisfactory solution by the time he had +passed through the village and reached the +gabled ivy-covered house where he lived. +</p> + +<p> +Trenant was a delightfully comfortable house, +prettily furnished, exquisitely neat, and in every +way thoroughly well ordered. Some one was +singing on the staircase as Dr. Tremain opened +the front door, and as he took off his wet coat +there was a sound of hurrying footsteps, and a +pretty bright-looking girl of about sixteen ran +to meet him. +</p> + +<p> +"Papa, how long you have been out, and +how shockingly wet you are!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, it is raining heavily," said the doctor, +taking one of the soft little hands in his as he +crossed the hall. "Is your mother in, Gladys?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, she's with the children in the drawing-room, +and we've kept some tea for you. I'll +go and see to it," and she ran off, finishing the +song which had been interrupted, while her +father went into the drawing-room. +</p> + +<p> +Gladys was the eldest daughter of the house, +and when her parents had chosen her name—a +name which they considered as emblematic of +happiness, in spite of certain questionings which +had arisen among name fanciers on the subject—it +would seem that some unseen fairy godmother +had really bestowed that best of all +gifts on their child, for Gladys was the happiest, +most contented, sunshiny little person imaginable. +Everything about her looked happy, her +sunny golden-brown hair, her bright, well-opened, +grey eyes, her laughing mouth, her little +unformed nose, her dimpled chin, and fresh +glowing complexion. She had, of course, her +ups and downs like most people, but she was +too unselfish to be depressed for any length of +time, and too easy and accommodating to make +much of such troubles and difficulties as she +had. +</p> + +<p> +In a few minutes the tea was ready, and +Gladys, with a dainty little hand-tray filled +with a plate of crisp home-made biscuits, and +the cup and saucer, crossed the hall once more, +passed the little conservatory where two +canaries were singing with all their might, and +entered the drawing-room, in which she found +her father and mother talking together. +</p> + +<p> +"They are strangers. The father had just +returned from India," Dr. Tremain was saying. +"And they were taking a driving tour in +Cornwall; it's the saddest thing I've heard for +a long time. Without the slightest preparation +the poor fellow is left in this way, without a +friend near him." +</p> + +<p> +"He is quite alone then at the inn?" asked +Mrs. Tremain. +</p> + +<p> +"Perfectly alone, and I don't see how we are +to help him. I thought of asking him here, but +I feel sure he wouldn't come." +</p> + +<p> +"Poor boy! How old is he?" +</p> + +<p> +"About eighteen, I believe; but he's decidedly +old for his age, he is a man compared with +Dick." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! Dick never will grow old," said the +mother, with a little sigh, as she remembered +how far away was the sailor son. "But we +cannot leave this poor Mr. Farrant without any +sympathy. Would it be any use if I went to +see him!" +</p> + +<p> +"It would be the very best thing possible," +said the doctor, "if you do not shrink from it +too much. I am afraid you will find it very +difficult to make any way with him, but I can't +think of any other plan for helping him." +</p> + +<p> +"I will try to see him, then, after dinner," +said Mrs. Tremain. +</p> + +<p> +"Is Mr. Farrant's father dead?" asked Gladys, +as her father left the room. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, dear, quite suddenly. The shock +must have been terrible to the poor boy." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! mother, how will you comfort him? +How dreadful it must be to have such sorrow +all alone!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, terrible indeed," said Mrs. Tremain. +"I am afraid we cannot do very much to +comfort him, dear Gladys, but God can comfort +him, and perhaps He may use us as His messengers +of comfort; at any rate we can all pray +for him." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, we can do that. But, mother,"—and +a shade crossed Gladys' bright face—"it does +seem so strange that some people should have +so much more trouble than others. Dick and +I, for instance, we have had scarcely anything +but happiness all our lives. Of course Dick's +going away is always sad, but I mean we've +had no great sorrows. Doesn't it seem almost +unfair, unjust, that lives should be so unequal?" +</p> + +<p> +"It must seem so, until we can realize that +we are all the children of a loving Father, who +gives to everyone just what is best for them. +If we remember that God's will is to draw us +all nearer Him, to fit us for the greatest happiness +of all, we shall surely trust Him to choose +our joys and sorrows, and those of everyone else too." +</p> + +<p> +"And yet, mother, it seems very often as if +the troubles were just the very worst things +for us, the things that made us go wrong. +Think of poor Ben Trevethan at the forge; his +wife died, and directly afterwards his son grew +so wild, and took to drinking, and then just +when Ben hoped to steady him again he was +laid up for months and months, and the son +grew worse, and at last ran away; it seems as +if it would have been so much better if all +those troubles hadn't happened together, as if +the son would have had so much more chance +of getting right." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, it seems so to us, dear," said +Mrs. Tremain; "but you must remember that we +cannot see the pattern which our lives are +weaving, we can only go on bit by bit, remembering +that there is a pattern, and that one day +we shall understand why the dark shades, and +the long plain pieces, and the bright glad +colours were sent us. Ben Trevethan's life, +and his son's too, will not be wasted, you may +be sure; they will help to influence, to guide, or +to warn other lives, all the time that they are +weaving their pattern." +</p> + +<p> +"Our pattern is very bright just now," said +Gladys, raising her happy contented face for a +kiss. "And baby Nesta is the very brightest +sunniest part of it all!" and she sprang up to +receive from the nurse the little white-robed +baby, the new delight and treasure of the whole +house. +</p> + +<p> +Her song was taken up once more as she +walked to and fro with her little charge, and +the voices of the other children at their play +came from the further end of the room, while +Mrs. Tremain's thoughts reverted to the sad +story she had heard, and to the work which lay +before her that evening. +</p> + +<p> +Her task was no easy one; she trembled a +little when she was actually standing in the +passage of the inn, having sent a messenger to +ask if Mr. Farrant would see her. Dr. Tremain +had been called out, and she had been obliged +to come alone; this made the interview seem all +the more formidable, but she was too unselfish +to shrink from the difficulty. The messenger +returned quickly, and she was ushered into the +little sitting-room, speedily forgetting all +thought of herself as she saw what utter misery +was written on Donovan's face. He came +forward to meet her, and bowed gravely; then, as +she held out her hand with a few words of +explanation and sympathy, he took it in his, +answered briefly but courteously, and drew a +chair towards the fire for her. She sat down, +and he fell back into his former position, with +his elbows resting on the mantelpiece and his +face half hidden, as if he had done all that +courtesy required of him, and intended to +return to his own thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Tremain's voice roused him; it was a +very low gentle voice, and fell pleasantly on +his ear. +</p> + +<p> +"I cannot bear to think of your being all +alone here," she began. "This inn seems so +forlorn and comfortless for you. I wish we +could persuade you to come to our house, you +should be perfectly quiet and undisturbed." +</p> + +<p> +She hardly thought that he would consent to +this plan, but it made an opening for conversation, +and it roused Donovan at once; his tone, +as he replied, was more than merely courteous, +and his sad eyes met hers fully. +</p> + +<p> +"You are very kind and good to think of it, +but I don't think I can come, thank you; +to-morrow my mother will be here, and to-night I +can't leave—I would rather——" he broke off +hastily, unable to control his distress. +</p> + +<p> +"You must do just what you like best," said +Mrs. Tremain; "I can quite understand your +feeling." +</p> + +<p> +"It would be of no use," continued Donovan, +recovering himself, but speaking in a low +constrained voice. "Can I escape from my +thoughts at your house any more than here? +Nothing can make misery and remorse bearable." +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose we all see the full beauty and +goodness of those we love only when we lose +them," said Mrs. Tremain, not quite understanding +him, "and then we wish we had often acted +differently to them; those bitter regrets are +very hard to bear." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah! you don't know, you can't understand +what reason for remorse I have!" cried +Donovan; and then he looked steadily at +Mrs. Tremain for a minute, to decide whether he +should tell her of his disgrace or not. +</p> + +<p> +He saw a sweet, gentle, motherly face, a +calm serene forehead, smooth bands of dark +hair beginning to turn grey, delicately-arched +and pencilled eyebrows, and dark grey eyes, +which seemed to shine right into his, eyes +which were clear, and unswerving, and truthful, +yet full of tender sympathy. +</p> + +<p> +His voice trembled a little, but yet it was a +relief to him when he said, with lowered eyelids, +and a burning flush on his cheek, "I have +disgraced my father." +</p> + +<p> +Before long Mrs. Tremain had heard all the +particulars of his trouble at school, and had +listened sadly to his account of the journey, +and of his father's illness. She was sure that it +was good for him to talk; if she had known +that he had never in his whole life had such a +disburdening, she might have encouraged him +still more. She gave him all her sympathy, +and when at length he relapsed into silence it +was with a look of less hopeless misery on his +face. Mrs. Tremain glanced round the room +then, and saw that the meal prepared on the +table was untouched. +</p> + +<p> +"I have been keeping you from dinner!" she +exclaimed, regretfully. +</p> + +<p> +"No, indeed. I want nothing. I could not +eat," said Donovan, decidedly. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Tremain hardly felt surprised as she +looked at the tough steak and greasy gravy, +now perfectly cold. +</p> + +<p> +"You must eat something," she said, assuming +a gentle authority over him, which he was +not at all inclined to resist. "Give me <i>carte +blanche</i> with the landlady, and you shall have +something you can eat directly. This must +have been waiting." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, it has been up an hour or two," said +Donovan, wearily, and he threw himself back in +an arm-chair, while Mrs. Tremain left the room, +returning before long with some hot coffee and +a far more appetizing repast. She sat down +with him, taking some coffee herself, and +inducing him both to eat and to talk; and when at +last she was obliged to go he was really cheered +and refreshed. +</p> + +<p> +"Mrs. Farrant will be here to-morrow," she +said, at parting. "That will be a comfort to +you." +</p> + +<p> +Donovan did not answer. He would not +show what his real feeling on the subject was, +but only hardened his face, and, thanking +Mrs. Tremain for her kindness, wished her good-bye. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap04"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER IV. +<br><br> +"MY ONLY SON, DONOVAN." +</h2> + +<p class="intro"> + So drives self-love through just, and through unjust,<br> + To one man's pow'r, ambition, lucre, lust.<br> + POPE.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +On the following evening the little inn-parlour +witnessed a very different scene. Donovan, +who had known perfectly well what to expect, +had, after a night and day of misery, +settled down into a stony speechless sorrow, +largely mingled now with bitterness, for the +meeting with his mother had been most painful. +</p> + +<p> +The trouble had sharpened Mrs. Farrant, and +in the selfishness of her grief she made not the +slightest allowance for the feelings of other +people. Without intentional cruelty, without +indeed thinking at all, she was absolutely +merciless. Donovan had tried hard to meet her +affectionately. Even his stiff reserve had +melted in the greatness and honesty of his desire to +comfort her. Anyone not entirely absorbed in +self, must have seen and accepted such very +real sympathy, but Mrs. Farrant saw nothing, +thought of nothing, but wearied with her +journey, unnerved by the sudden shock, vented her +petulant grief on the only victim at hand. +</p> + +<p> +It was a very grievous scene. On the sofa +lay the widow, a beautiful and still +young-looking woman, her face distorted now, +however, by passionate sorrow, and wet with +tears—that violent stormy grief which is soon spent, +and which even already was mixed with angry +reproaches. Standing by the window, in an +attitude expressing rigid endurance, was the +son, his face very still and quiet in contrast to +his mother's, but with an indescribable bitterness +about it which almost overpowered the +sadness. He had learnt quickly that his +presence was irritating instead of comforting to +his mother. In a sort of proud hopelessness he +moved away from her, and stood looking out +across the dreary street to the grey sea beyond, +while, as if in a sort of dream, he heard all +that was going on: the ceaseless drip of the +rain, the distant breaking of the waves upon +the shore, the weary reiteration of sobs and +reproaches from within. Harder and harder +grew his face as he listened, just because his +heart was anything but hard, and ached and +smarted under that "continual dropping." How +long it went on he had not the faintest idea, +but it seemed to him that he had heard many +times of his "disgrace," had often winced at the +mention of his father's name, had silently +listened to many unjust accusations, had long felt +the grating incongruity of this stormy passion +with the silent room of death above. It was a +relief when at length, exhausted with her +sorrow, Mrs. Farrant fell asleep. He drew nearer +then, and stood silently watching her, looked +at her soft brown hair, her faultless features, +her singularly delicate complexion. It seemed +incredible that one so beautiful and +gentle-looking could have uttered such cruel +reproaches, but it was by no means surprising +to Donovan. He had been quite prepared for +it, had learnt many years ago that his mother +was a mother only in name, that the outgoing +love of true motherhood was not in her, that +the most he could ever expect for himself or +Dot was a ghastly shadow in place of a reality. +He had been a fool to think of comforting her! +He would waste no more hopes on anything so +hopeless. He flung back to the window, yet +returned to spread a shawl over her feet. +</p> + +<p> +The wretched evening wore on, Mrs. Farrant +awoke, and with scarcely a word went upstairs +to bed. Once more the room was lonely and +still—infinitely more lonely even than it had +been on the previous evening, for now Donovan's +whole being was crying out at the injustice +of its loneliness. Why, when he would +willingly have shown tenderness and love, was +he coldly repulsed? Why was he cut off from +all sympathy? What was the meaning of the +pain which had relentlessly pursued him from +his very childhood? To these questions what +answer could he make?—all seemed to him +hopeless confusion and injustice. If for a +moment his mind did revert to the thought of a +Providence ruling over all, it was only to be as +quickly repelled by the vision of the God +presented to him in his childhood, for it was +always to this teaching that he recurred when he +allowed the subject to enter his thoughts at all. +Mrs. Doery's misrepresentation had left its +impress on his mind, while in later years the +truths he had heard had always been so resolutely +and speedily rejected that they had failed +to leave their mark. +</p> + +<p> +The room began to grow intolerable to him; +he rushed out into the open air, and breathed +more freely as the cold night wind blew upon +him. The rain was still falling fast, but he +scarcely noticed it as he strode on recklessly. +The mere mechanical exercise was in itself +soothing, and he might have trudged along the +muddy road for an indefinite time, had not his +attention been attracted by a distant sound of +music. Drawing nearer, he found that the +house from which it proceeded was Dr. Tremain's, +and instinctively he approached one of +the windows, and looked through the +half-opened Venetian blind at the scene within. +</p> + +<p> +Not a detail of that picture escaped him. A +soft light falling through the opal lamp globe +illumined the room, the pale French grey walls, +the running oak-leaf patterned carpet, the deep +crimson curtains, all harmonized to perfection. +Seated at the piano was Gladys Tremain, her +bright hair gathered back from her face, and +her complexion, which was at times almost too +highly coloured, looking absolutely perfect in +the mellow lamp-light. She wore a very simple +white dress, and her small soft hands seemed +to touch the keys almost caressingly. +</p> + +<p> +Donovan forgot his sorrow for a moment, +and felt vexed when, as she stopped playing, +the spell which had bound him was for the time +broken by a voice which came from within the +room. +</p> + +<p> +"Sing something, Gladys; I'm tired of those +old 'songs without words,'" and the speaker +crossed the room, and came close to the piano, +so that Donovan could see he was a boy of +about his own age, of slight build and fair +complexion, but not sufficiently like Gladys to be +any relation, he fancied. +</p> + +<p> +"You dare to grow tired of Mendelssohn!" +said Gladys, with a fine show of indignation. +"You boys have no taste whatever; one might +as well play to—to——" She paused for a +comparison. +</p> + +<p> +"To the heathen Chinee," suggested her +companion. "'What a lot of chop-sticks, bombs, +and gongs!'—you remember the song, of course. +That's Chinese art, you know." +</p> + +<p> +Gladys laughed, and there was a merry little +squabble carried on, as the two tried to play +the air of the old nursery rhyme. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, now will you sing after all?" said the +boy at last; "we will allow, if you like, that +it's a case of pearls before swine." +</p> + +<p> +"Don't, Stephen," and Gladys really looked vexed. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, isn't even that allowable? I didn't +know you were such a little Puritan." +</p> + +<p> +"You know I can't bear that kind of thing; +it is such a pity to use——" +</p> + +<p> +"A fellow can't be always picking his words—I'm +sure it's as good as a proverb now," +interrupted Stephen. "If you only knew what +it was to have such a strait-laced mother as I +have, you——" +</p> + +<p> +"Find me a song," said Gladys, handing him +a portfolio, and, though she spoke sweetly, +there was a certain grave dignity in her tone. +</p> + +<p> +The choice was soon made, but Donovan was +so absorbed in watching Gladys that he scarcely +noticed the first verse of the song, until a +mournful refrain of "Strangers yet" recalled +him painfully to himself. With strained +attention he listened to the remaining verses:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "After childhood's winning ways,<br> + After care and blame and praise,<br> + Counsel asked and wisdom given,<br> + After mutual prayers to heaven,<br> + Child and parent scarce regret<br> + When they part are strangers yet.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Will it evermore be thus,<br> + Spirits still impervious?<br> + Shall we never fairly stand<br> + Soul to soul and hand to hand?<br> + Are the bonds eternal set<br> + To retain us strangers yet?"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Absurdly impossible," was Stephen's comment +at the end. "I had no idea it meant that +kind of strangers—very dull too." +</p> + +<p> +"The song or the parents?" asked Gladys, +laughing. "In either case your answer will be +equally rude. Here is papa," she continued, as +Dr. Tremain came into the room. "I shall +tell him what a teaze you are, Stephen; you're +really getting worse than Dick." +</p> + +<p> +"What is that doleful song?" asked the +doctor, putting his hand on her shoulder as he +bent down to look at the piece of music. +"'Strangers yet!' Who were the strangers?" +</p> + +<p> +"A parent and child, papa, and Stephen +declares that it's absurdly impossible." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course it is!" said Stephen, hotly. "Why, +do you think when my father returns from his +voyages that he feels a stranger to me, or that +my mother doesn't know everything about +me—rather too much, perhaps, sometimes." +</p> + +<p> +The doctor could not help smiling at the +rueful tone of the last sentence. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, Stephen, I think in your case it would +be 'absurdly impossible,'" he said, laughingly, +"but I am afraid perfect comprehension between +parents and children is not so universal as it +ought to be, or as you seem to think it. Here +comes the mother to give her opinion. But +how is this?" for Mrs. Tremain had in her arms +a clinging, four-year-old boy in the tiniest of +white night-shirts. +</p> + +<p> +"Jackie had a very bad dream, and the only +thing that would set him right was just to +come downstairs and see all the world again," +she explained, smiling at the general exclamation. +</p> + +<p> +In a moment the suffering Jackie became the +hero of the evening, and was allowed to confide +all his terrors to "papa," how a great tiger +from the "Shosical Dardens" had come close to +his bed to eat him up, till just at the supreme +moment "mother" had heard his screams and +had rescued him. A little re-assuring talk on +the safety of tiger's cages, and a laughing +affirmative to the question "And 'oo is very +strong, isn't 'oo?" soon set Jackie's mind at +rest, his sleepy eyelids began to close, and, +having kissed everyone with drowsy solemnity, +he cuddled up again to his mother and was +carried off to bed. +</p> + +<p> +"There is no doubt that those two understand +each other," said the doctor, smiling +thoughtfully. +</p> + +<p> +"No, indeed!" said Gladys and Stephen, emphatically. +</p> + +<p> +"No, indeed!" echoed Donovan, under his +breath, and he turned quickly away with burning +tears in his eyes, unable to bear the sight +of the little home drama any longer. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Ellis Farrant happened to be in town +when the news of his cousin's death reached +him. It was the time of year when he found +that it answered best to be in town, a time +when he was sure of plenty of amusement, and +could reckon on getting most of his dinners +out. He was a man without any settled +profession, of moderate income, but expensive +habits, and, in order to reconcile these conflicting +elements, he found it necessary to live as +much as possible on his friends. It was not +until late on Saturday afternoon that, on +returning from his usual saunter in the park, he +found Donovan's letter, with its brief formal +intimation of his father's death. Ellis Farrant +was startled, awed; he did not like being +confronted with anything so gloomy yet so +inevitable as death, it was a subject he invariably +dismissed from his mind as quickly as possible, +and now his cousin had died with an awful +suddenness, and Ellis, whether he would or not, +found his thoughts turning to his own death, +that dismal goal which awaited him in the +future. Where should he die, and how, +and—and <i>when</i>? +</p> + +<p> +His hand trembled a little as he again took +up Donovan's letter, and strove to banish the +uneasy reflections which were troubling him by +a fresh perusal of the startling news; he found +himself, however, gazing vacantly at the +handwriting, rather than reading the sense conveyed +by the firm, clear, somewhat cramped letters. +Then his mind wandered off to Donovan himself, +perhaps something in the writing reminded +him of the clever, strong-willed, self-reliant boy +who had so often been his companion. He had +been expelled from school, the letter stated, +the very absence of further comment or +explanation showing how deeply the disgrace had +galled the proud nature. Well, he would pass +from disgrace to ease and pleasure, for was not +he his father's heir? Ellis Farrant reflected +for a few minutes on his good luck. Then with +a sudden and vehement exclamation, he started +to his feet. No, it was not so—he recollected +now his cousin's simple will at the time of his +marriage,—Donovan was not his father's heir, +everything had been left to Mrs. Farrant. It +had been little more than "All to my wife." He +had laughed over the story of the shortest will +long ago, he could not recall where or with +whom, but he remembered clearly that Colonel +Farrant's will had been to that effect, and the +remembrance seemed to excite him strangely. +</p> + +<p> +"In another year I shall be forty," he mused +to himself, "what the world will call a middle-aged +man. I hate that term middle-aged; but +anyhow, I shall not look it, and I am +tolerably—yes, really decidedly handsome." +</p> + +<p> +He rested his elbows on the mantel-piece and +surveyed himself critically in the mirror. In +colouring and general outline of face he was +sufficiently like Colonel Farrant and Donovan +to show near relationship, but his features and +expression were entirely different. The eyes of +very dark steel-grey lacked the peculiar admixture +of brown in the iris, which was so noticeable +in Donovan's; they were hard, bold-looking +eyes, unpleasant to meet. The firm well-shaped +chin was contradicted by a weak mouth, +which was only partially concealed by a bristling +black moustache. But, in spite of these +defects, he was, as he had said, a handsome +man, or, at any rate, he was possessed of a +certain brilliancy which generally passed for +good looks. +</p> + +<p> +Satisfied apparently with his own reflection, +he turned at length from the mirror, and, sitting +down to the table, dispatched first a telegram +to Donovan announcing his intention of coming +to Porthkerran the following day, and, secondly, +the advertisement of Colonel Farrant's death to +the <i>Times</i>, with an elaborately-worded eulogy +and feeling description of the grief of the +family. After that he relapsed into a profound +reverie, from which he only roused himself to +calculate what was the probable value of the +Oakdene estate. +</p> + +<p> +Donovan's Sunday at Porthkerran was almost +as trying a day as the previous one at school +had been. Possibly his grief and wretchedness +might have induced him to enter the church, +had not his recollections of the last Sunday +deterred him. Never could he forget the slow +torture to which he had then been subjected! +The intolerable length of the day, the two +services, the sermons with their direct reference to +the sin which he had promoted, their unsparing +condemnation of the ringleader, the sudden +turning of all eyes to his place, the struggle +between his sense of shame and his pride, the +angry resentment of the injustice and exaggeration. +He lived it all over again as he walked +gloomily along the Porthkerran cliffs, and the +silent repressed indignation did him no good. +</p> + +<p> +It was with his very worst expression that +he went to meet Ellis Farrant; his face was +dark and proud and cold, yet even then the +contrast between the cousins was very marked. +Donovan's, though the more hopeless face of +the two, had a certain nobility nowhere traceable +in Ellis's bold, self-satisfied mien; the one +face expressed a restless craving for something +beyond self, restrained only by a powerful will, +the other expressed little but self-satisfaction, +and a sort of defiance and bravado. +</p> + +<p> +Yet the sympathy which Ellis expressed so +readily and fluently both to Donovan and to +his mother was not altogether artificial; he was +by no means heartless, although undoubtedly +he was a selfish scheming man, bent upon +furthering his own interests. In the pursuance +of his own aims, however, he occasionally felt +kindly disposed towards others, and he admired, +even liked, Donovan. +</p> + +<p> +On the Monday all was changed, however. +The simple and beautiful burial service had +fallen with little effect on the ears of the two +chief mourners; all that remained of Colonel +Farrant had been laid in the little churchyard +of Porthkerran. The two cousins and the +doctor had returned in silence to the inn, and +then, as soon as Donovan was out of earshot, +Dr. Tremain took Ellis Farrant aside. +</p> + +<p> +"There is but one more duty, Mr. Farrant, +which I have to discharge, and that is to put +you in possession of the will which Colonel +Farrant executed just before his death. I +should have given it you earlier in the day, +only there has been no opportunity, for I +promised the Colonel that his son should know +nothing of the transaction." +</p> + +<p> +"A will—a codicil, I suppose," said Ellis +Farrant, hurriedly taking the sheet of paper +from Dr. Tremain and unfolding it. Though +he was weak and impulsive, he was too thorough +a man of the world not to have his facial +expression in very fair command; he betrayed +little but surprise as he read his cousin's most +unwelcome change of purpose, and his voice +was cool and steady as he again folded the +paper and turned to Dr. Tremain. "I am +named as my cousin's sole executor, I see; this +must be referred to his lawyer in London. +Many thanks to you, doctor, for your considerate help." +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Tremain rose to take leave, and Ellis, +accompanying him to the door, found Donovan +in the passage outside, and left him to see the +last of the guest. +</p> + +<p> +"We leave early to-morrow," he began, +hurriedly, "so I must wish you good-bye now, +Dr. Tremain—thank you for your kindness." +</p> + +<p> +"I hope we may meet again," said the +doctor, shaking his hand warmly, and looking +with grave compassion at the miserably +hopeless face before him. +</p> + +<p> +"Will you thank Mrs. Tremain for her kindness +to me," continued Donovan, still with the +air of one wearily discharging a duty of +courtesy, "and for the flowers she kindly sent this morning?" +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly, I will give her your message, +and when next you come westward I hope we +shall see you at Porthkerran. Good-bye!" And +the doctor turned away rather sadly, and +set out homewards. +</p> + +<p> +Before he had gone far, however, he heard +hurrying steps behind, and his late companion +once more stood beside him. +</p> + +<p> +"Forgive me," he said, hoarsely, "I was cold +and ungrateful, I shall not forget your +kindness, only now I'm too wretched to feel it. +Don't think too hardly of me." And before +Dr. Tremain could do more than show his answer +by look and gesture, Donovan was half way +back again to the inn. +</p> + +<p> +During this time Ellis Farrant had been +giving vent to his rage and disappointment +within the house. That all his schemes should +be frustrated by a paltry piece of note-paper, +witnessed by a doctor and a servant, was +inexpressibly galling. Had the will been +elaborately drawn up, and duly besprinkled with +meaningless legal phrases, it would not have +caused him half the annoyance. It was the +absurd littleness, the perfect simplicity of the +thing which chafed him so. Was there no flaw +to be detected?—no, not the very slightest +even to his longing eye. Would it be possible +to call his cousin's sanity into question? No, +utterly impossible, there could be no doubt of +that. There was a moment's pause in Ellis +Farrant's thoughts, a pause in which he fully +realised the defeat of his purpose; he heard +Donovan return to the inn, and at the sound of +his footsteps he hastily shuffled the will into +his pocket, but the precaution was needless, for +the footsteps passed by, and presently the door +of Donovan's room was closed and locked. +Again Ellis drew out the will and looked at it +fixedly; it was a little crumpled now, he +noticed the impression of his Indian-grass +cigar-case upon it; what a frail, trumpery, perishable +thing it was—he began to dwell on this thought +with satisfaction instead of bitterness. Then +he looked again at the signatures of the +witnesses: "Thomas Tremain, Surgeon, Trenant, +Porthkerran." "Mary Pengelly, Servant, +Penruddock Arms Inn, Porthkerran." +</p> + +<p> +A maid-servant and a doctor living in an +obscure Cornish village, what had he to fear +from them? And the boy upstairs? Why, he +knew nothing, and never need know—never +<i>should</i> know, and with sudden resolution Ellis +tore the sheet of paper in half, and in half +again. Then a great horror seized upon him, +he turned very cold, and fell back in his chair, +shuddering violently. It was done, and there +was no retrieving the deed! He mechanically +fingered and counted the six fragments, +looking at each with a vacant terror. By and by +the terror began to take definite shape. What +if the boy were to come down? He must +completely destroy all remains of this detestable +will, of this little heap of paper which had been +the will. He was very cold, he would order a +fire, and he crossed the room with unsteady +steps to ring the bell, but paused with the +caution of guilt when his hand was on the +bell-rope. Supposing Mary Pengelly should come, +supposing she caught sight of these fragments! +he felt as if she would instantly perceive them +in the securest hiding-place. No, he must light +the fire himself, and with nervous haste he +drew a box of fusees from his pocket, and with +considerable difficulty succeeded in kindling the +damp wood into a blaze. Then he carefully +placed the little heap of paper in the very +centre of the grate, and watched anxiously +while gradually the edges curled upwards, the +whiteness was scorched to brown, then to +black, fringed with sparks of red, finally to a +swift yellow blaze, while the last black shreds +of Colonel Farrant's will were borne up the +chimney by the sudden draught. Not quite the +last, however, for one fragment had fallen to +the side of the fireplace, and floated down on +to the fender just as Ellis thought all was over. +He snatched it up, and would once more have +thrown it to the flames had not something +forced him to look at it; scorched and half +charred as were its edges, he could plainly read +the words—"My only son Donovan." A swift +pang of regret thrilled him for a moment; then +a sound in the passage outside renewed his +guilty terror, and, stooping down, he held the +fragment to the blaze with his own fingers, +scarcely feeling the near approach of the hot +flames, in his relief that the last vestige of the +will was finally disposed of. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap05"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER V. +<br><br> +REPULSED AND ATTRACTED. +</h2> + +<p class="intro"> + DUCHESS OF YORK.<br> + "Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy,<br> + Thy school-days frightful, desperate, wild and furious.<br> + * * * * * * * * * *<br> + What comfortable hour cans't thou name<br> + That ever graced me in thy company?"<br> + KING RICHARD.<br> + "If I be so disgracious in your eyes<br> + Let me march on, and not offend you, madam."<br> + <i>King Richard III</i>.—Act iv, Sc. 4.<br> +</p> + +<p class="intro"> +In this country the power of the man in and out of +society is all but supreme. Wherever he is he overpowers +and rules, and shadowy crowds yield to his spell. At his +beck they join a crusade, or forswear their own existence. +As he dictates they are protoplasms and sporules, or +divinities. They throb with his affections, they pant with +his desires, and rise to his aspirations. They see as he sees, +hear as he hears, and believe as he believes. This is the +power for evil or for good. +</p> + +<p class="intro"> + <i>The Times</i>. Christmas Day, 1880.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Oakdene Manor was a comfortable though +somewhat prosaic modern house, built by +Colonel Farrant's father on the site of the old +Manor House farm, which had belonged to the +Farrants from time immemorial. It stood on +the very verge of a beautifully-wooded hill +overlooking one of the simple yet lovely valleys +which abound in Mountshire, with distant +glimpses of blue-grey downs, a view of which it +was impossible to tire. The shrubs, which had +been planted nearly eighteen years, were now +in their full perfection; a long approach, bordered +on each side by pines and laurels, led to the +pretty creeper-laden porch, while beyond and +to the front of the house lay a somewhat +curiously-planned garden, formed into four terraces +cut one below the other on the side of the hill. +At the foot of the lowest terrace there was a +somewhat overgrown pond, and beyond this +a thick wild wood, sloping down to the valley. +It was rather a late season, and, though the +first week in June was nearly over, the trees +were only just beginning to look really green. +It seemed a wonderfully slow process this +re-clothing of Nature, at least to little Dot Farrant +it seemed so; but she lay watching the trees so +continuously from day to day that, although +Mrs. Doery affirmed that she must see them +grow, the long expectancy of spring was really +more protracted to her than to those who +watched the growth and progress less carefully. +</p> + +<p> +Her couch was, as usual, drawn close up to +the window on a showery afternoon of early +June, and she had contrived to while away the +time very pleasantly by watching the sudden +changes of storm and sun on the wood below, +for Dot had something of an artist's eye, and +was quick to mark the effects of light and shade. +Happy little observations of this kind were indeed +but too often all she was fit for; grievously +fragile and delicate, she was, as Mrs. Doery +expressed it in broad terms, "diseased through +and through." And yet it was on the whole a +happy and singularly child-like face. Her +complexion was pale but very fair, the delicate +contour of her features was still so far +unharmed by suffering as to show her childish +years; her hair was strained back from the +forehead and just fell to the shoulder in soft, +dark-brown masses, and her eyes were almost +exactly like Donovan's, dark hazel, full of +pathos, but expressing less painfully the sad +unsatisfied craving so noticeable in his. +</p> + +<p> +This was perhaps to be accounted for; to Dot +everything she needed, so it seemed to her, was +summed up in her brother. Donovan was her +friend, her comforter, her teacher, her playfellow; +when he was with her, her days were almost +uniformly happy. She would bear her pain in +patient silence for the sake of pleasing and +sparing him; and when he was absent the +thought of what he would have liked, and the +remembrance of his own patience and control +nerved her still to endure and to copy her ideal. +Her love really amounted to worship. +</p> + +<p> +But, deeply as he loved her, Dot could not at +all fill this position to Donovan. She was +indeed to him both friend and comforter, and, in a +sense, also teacher and playfellow, but he was +of course the strong one, she leant on him +utterly, and he—he had nothing to lean on but +himself, or rather would accept nothing. The +strong craving was there, only his pride of will +held it in iron fetters. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "'If the ash before the oak,<br> + Then you may expect a soak;<br> + If the oak before the ash,<br> + Then 'twill only be a splash,'"<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +quoted Dot, merrily, as she lay watching the +dripping trees glistening in the sunlight. +"Doery, do you hear? We are going to have +a fine summer, for the oaks are twice as forward +as the other trees." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Doery was sitting before a large +work-basket, darning stockings; by the gloom and +sourness expressed on her features, it might +have been supposed that she was the constant +sufferer, and bright-faced Dot the able-bodied +person. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, Miss Dot," she answered, in a depressed +voice, "I'm not much of a believer in +such signs as them. The weather is as contrairy +as most other things and folks; reckon that it'll +do one thing, it's sure to go and do another." +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose things do go rather contrairily," +said Dot, coining a word upon Mrs. Doery's +model. "Certainly just now everything seems +gone wrong," and she thought with a sigh of +the loss of the father whom she had never +learnt to know, and of Donovan's school disgrace. +</p> + +<p> +"I've lived sixty-eight years come Michaelmas," +replied Mrs. Doery, "and I never knew +it otherwise; folks generally get just what they +don't want, and when they don't want. There +was your poor grandpapa, just as he'd built +this house, he was laid up with paralysis, and +never so much as saw it finished. There was +me myself" (Mrs. Doery was very fond of +dilating on her past life), "just as I'd got used +to doing for my poor master, comes Master +Donovan to plague the life out of me; and +then, as if I hadn't had enough of trouble and +worriting, you, who I thought would have been +a good baby, turns out sickly and invalidated." +(Mrs. Doery rather confused long words at +times.) "This last month, too, has been a +regular chapter of misfortunes; I counted on +it that at least Mr. Donovan would have done +us some credit at school, seeing that all the +folk say he's so clever—too clever, Dr. Simpkins +used to say when he was little; and now +here he is home again, with nothing but +disgrace to bring us." +</p> + +<p> +"Doery, how can you!" interrupted Dot, +with burning cheeks. "You know how sorry +he is—how dreadfully unhappy." +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Dot," said Doery, a little severely, +"I've known Mr. Donovan a sight longer than +you, and, mark my words, he's no more sorry +than—than—you are," she ended, not very +conclusively. "It always was the way; the +more I punished him for his faults, the less +sorrow he'd show; he'd only get angry, and +that's what he is now. I know well enough +that look on his face, and it's never sorrow +that brought it there. If you think he's +a-grieving over his fault you're mistaken, Miss +Dot; he's thinking of them fellows who gave +him the mark on his forehead." +</p> + +<p> +Doery had a good deal of shrewd common-sense, +and she was not far wrong here; the +only pity was that her penetration did not go +a little further, and convince her how very much +at fault her early system of training had been. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! but, Doery, that was such a cruel, +mean, unjust thing to do," pleaded Dot, with +tears in her eyes. "How can you wonder that +he felt angry? Oh! I can't think how anyone +could have hurt my dear, dear Dono! They +must have been wretches!" +</p> + +<p> +"Those who do wrong suffer for it," said +Mrs. Doery. "Mr. Donovan had done harm to +the school, and the school was bound to show +what it felt. Not but what I'm sorry enough +that they've made that scar on his forehead, +for he's a fine handsome lad, no one can't +deny," and for a moment the old woman's face +was softened, for she was not without a certain +pride in her troublesome, ill-starred ne'er-do-weel. +</p> + +<p> +"Will the mark always stay, do you think?" +questioned Dot, with feminine anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +"Always," said Mrs. Doery, with a sigh; +"he'll always be known by it, like Cain, to his +dying day." +</p> + +<p> +"Who is Cain?" asked Dot, whose bringing +up equalled Donovan's in ignorance. +</p> + +<p> +"Cain was a bad man, who murdered his +brother, and had a mark put on his forehead," +said Mrs. Doery. +</p> + +<p> +"How horrid!" shuddered Dot. "But I +thought you said the other day that it wasn't +proper for little girls to hear about murders, +when I wanted to hear what cook had shown +you about one in the newspaper." +</p> + +<p> +"There are murders and murders," said Mrs. Doery, +sagely. "Cain is different from the ones +now-a-days; he's—he's—instructive as well as +destructive." +</p> + +<p> +Dot smiled a little, but did not ask for the +story; her thoughts had wandered back to +Donovan. +</p> + +<p> +"I am sorry, you know, Doery, that the scar +will show always, because it will help to +remind people of Dono's trouble, and I want them +to forget very soon." +</p> + +<p> +"You won't find that folks will forget, Miss +Dot, so don't expect it; a bad beginning is a +bad beginning, nobody can't deny, and I've +always found that, if people once get a bad +name, they keep it. I can't say, either, that I +see any signs of Mr. Donovan's turning over a +new leaf; he's as obstinate and as headstrong +as ever. I've told him many a time since he +wasn't higher than that table how 'Don't care' +came to the gallows, but he was always one +for tossing back his head in that haughty way, +minding no one in the world but himself. He'll +come to no good." +</p> + +<p> +"Don't say such dreadful things, Doery," said +Dot, between laughing and crying. "Dono +will be 'contrairy,' as you say the weather is. +He will turn out exactly the opposite to what +you expect, he will, I am sure. People can't +help loving him, and then, you know, he will +get happy again. Oh! I am so glad he comes +back from London to-day. How long it seems +since Cousin Ellis took him away! What is +the time, Doery? Do look before you begin +that new row. He was to be at the station at +four o'clock." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Doery's respectable silver time-keeper +pronounced it to be four already, and, though +the station was three miles off, Dot insisted on +having her couch wheeled to the window facing +the carriage-drive, that she might watch for +him. +</p> + +<p> +In the drawing-room below, Mrs. Farrant +was roused by the sound to a remembrance +that her son was returning that afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +"Doery really should oil the wheels of Dot's +couch," she reflected, drowsily, with the +discomforted feeling of one disturbed in the +middle of a siesta. But somehow she could not +compose herself to sleep again, though she still +lay comfortably on the sofa, allowing her +thoughts to roam idly where they pleased. +</p> + +<p> +It was now three weeks since Colonel +Farrant's funeral. His widow had returned to +Oakdene, and had resumed her former habits of +life, not exactly with the courageous "re-beginning" +of submission—for it was no very great +effort to her—but rather with the acquiescence +of an inert mind. The passionate vehemence +of her grief had exhausted itself at Porthkerran. +It had been an unusual effort to her, for she +was not by nature passionate. Her reproachful +anger with Donovan, and her long fits of +weeping, had completely worn her out; all +bodily exertion was distasteful to her, and this +excessive agitation, so very foreign to her +nature, had told greatly on her physical health. +It was therefore perhaps well for all parties +that her inactive mind and dormant affections +allowed her so soon to return to her ordinary +life, though Donovan, with what seemed like +inconsistency, maintained that he would rather +have gone through endless repetitions of the +stormy scenes at Porthkerran than have witnessed +this calm, placid forgetfulness. To his +strong and positive nature his mother's character +was a complete enigma. The bitter anger +was something he could comprehend, though it +had wounded him to the quick, but the speedy +return to quiet indifference could not possibly +be understood by him, or sympathised with, +and for that reason it wounded him still more. +</p> + +<p> +And yet it would be hard to blame poor +Mrs. Farrant altogether, for her natural temperament +and her circumstances had a great deal +to do with her failings. The only daughter of +a widowed cavalry officer, she had never known +anything of home-life. She had married Colonel +Farrant almost as soon as she left school, and +had passed at once into all the cares and +responsibilities of a household, and the pleasures +and trials of a military life abroad. At Malta +she had been the gayest of the gay, and, +though feeling some natural pride in her child, +had very little time to notice him at all. In +India her health had suffered, and, naturally +indolent, she had fallen into the luxurious, +semi-invalid ways so hard to break loose from. +Then came the return to England, which had +been agreed upon on account of her health, and +for the last ten years she had led a quiet, +indulgent, easy life, enjoying the society to be +had near Oakdene in a subdued lazy way of +her own, and making one yearly effort, namely +the removal to the London house for the +months of May and June. So far as circumstances +and natural character can be put forward +as an excuse, Mrs. Farrant might reasonably +claim a lenient judgment, but no one need +be the "slave of circumstance," and no nature +can be so hopelessly inert, or weak, or bad, +that rightly directed and resolute efforts will +not reform it. But Mrs. Farrant had never +made a resolute effort of this kind. She was +one of those people who let themselves drift +along the stream of life. She never tried to row, +never hoisted a sail, never even touched a +steering rope. She had had a sharp, sudden shock; +for a moment her quiet course had been interrupted, +but now she had resumed it, and allowed +herself to drift along placidly as before. +</p> + +<p> +This was the head of the Oakdene household, +the influence for good or for evil of the inmates +of the Manor; a woman who could best be +described by negatives—not good, and yet not +exactly bad, not evil intentioned, and yet +without a single good motive, not unkind to her +children, yet never loving, not in the world's +opinion irreligious, yet never penetrating +beyond the outer shell of religion. There was +only one thing in which she was positive—love +of herself. Her dreamy, unregulated thoughts +generally hovered round this point of interest; +her health, her comfort or discomfort, her dress, +her employments, her amusements, and curiously, +one exception outside herself, her lap-dog. Upon +a handsome, bad-tempered, snowy Pomeranian +named Fido, she lavished the time and caresses +which her children had failed to obtain from +her. +</p> + +<p> +On the afternoon in question she lay calmly +meditating on the sofa in her usual fashion, +meandering on from subject to subject. +</p> + +<p> +"Doery should really oil those wheels. I +wonder what nerve is affected so strangely by +any sound like that? Perhaps it is the +sympathetic nerve. If so my sympathetic nerve +must be very susceptible—very. But all my +nerves are susceptible, as Dr. Maclean used to +say at Calcutta, 'You are all nerves, my dear +madam.' He was a handsome man, Dr. Maclean, +only a little too grey. How pleasant those +years in Calcutta were, if it hadn't been for the +heat and for my health suffering so, I could +really wish to go back there. Charming society +it used to be, only one paid for the exertion of +going out; the balls were delightful, but I was +a martyr to headaches the next day." An interlude +of vacancy, terminated by a series of sharp +barks from Fido. "Down, Fido, down! What +is it, poor little dog? Ah! he heard wheels. +Good little Fido, quite right, little doggie, bark +away, only not too near my ears, please! It +cannot be a visitor, for I've not sent out my +'return thanks.' It must be Donovan. I do +hope he has come back in better spirits, it is so +wearing to me to see him with a gloomy face. +Is my cap straight, I wonder," and she glanced +at her reflection in the looking-glass. "This +new cap really suits me very well, only the +lappets are so in the way on a sofa. What a +quick, sharp step Donovan has, quite a military +tread like his poor father's. Ah! he has gone +upstairs to Dot's room, so I may as well have +my afternoon tea before seeing him." Another +thoughtless interval, this time broken by the +entrance of the servant with a little solitaire +tea-service, and a plate of broken biscuit for Fido. +Mrs. Farrant roused herself. +</p> + +<p> +"I forgot to tell Charlotte this morning that +Mr. Donovan was expected. Just tell her to +get his room ready." +</p> + +<p> +The page received the message, and retired +noiselessly, while Mrs. Farrant stirred her tea, +and lamented over the cares and troubles of +housekeeping. +</p> + +<p> +In the room above, the "quick, sharp step" +had been listened to with very different feelings. +Dot wriggled about on her couch impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! Doery, do open the door," she cried. +"I'm so afraid he will go into the drawing-room. +I want so to hear. Yes—no—he is coming upstairs!" +and she half raised herself in her excitement. +</p> + +<p> +"Lie still, Miss Dot, and be patient," said +Doery, scrutinizing the heel of a fresh +stocking. "Dear me! one would think you +were expecting the Prince of Wales and all the +royal family!" +</p> + +<p> +"Here he is! here he is!" cried Dot, ecstatically. +"Oh! Dono!" and her little weak arms +were round his neck in a minute, with all the +clinging warmth of a childish, half worshipping +love. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, little woman," he exclaimed, after she +had released him, "how have you been getting +on? You have actually a little colour in your +cheeks for once." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! it is so beautiful to have you back +again," said Dot, happily. "It has seemed such +a long fortnight; and how tall and old you +look, Dono. And, oh! you're letting your +moustache grow again. Look at him, Doery." +</p> + +<p> +Thus reminded of Mrs. Doery's presence, +Donovan turned round hastily to greet his old +enemy. +</p> + +<p> +"How are you, Doery? And how do you +think Miss Dot is?" +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you, Mr. Donovan, my health is very +well," answered Doery, precisely. "And as to +Miss Dot, her face is flushed just from +excitement, and nobody can't deny that she's been +very poorly this last week." +</p> + +<p> +He listened with the wistfulness of one obliged +to obtain the news nearest his heart from a +detailer not greatly interested in the matter. +A shade of disappointment and anxiety stole +over his face as he turned to look at Dot, but +she soon made him smile again. +</p> + +<p> +"I am as well as possible now you are come. +Last week it got hot so quickly. Was it hot +in London? And what did you and Cousin +Ellis do?" +</p> + +<p> +Donovan gave as bright a description as he +could of what had been in reality an unhappy +and unsatisfactory time, but he was not sorry +to be interrupted before long by a sound of +scratching at the door. +</p> + +<p> +"It cannot be Fido, because he always barks +so at you," said Dot, wonderingly. +</p> + +<p> +"No, I expect it is my present for you, who +has had the impudence to run upstairs before +he was called." +</p> + +<p> +"Your present! Oh, Dono! and a live one!" +</p> + +<p> +Donovan opened the door, and admitted a +fox-terrier puppy, whose whines of delight at +finding his friend were drowned in Dot's +delighted exclamations. +</p> + +<p> +"Is he for my very own? Oh! Dono, what a +dear old boy you are! What made you think +of it!" +</p> + +<p> +"The fellow tacked himself on to me one day +in the Strand, and absolutely refused to go. +That's ten days ago now, and, as he's not been +advertised for, I thought I'd bring him home to +you. Come here, old fellow, and see your new +mistress." +</p> + +<p> +The dog pattered up obediently, and +Donovan lifted him on to the couch that Dot might +stroke him. +</p> + +<p> +"He's a darling," said the little girl, rapturously; +"such nice eyes he has, and half his face +black and half white, and a white and yellow +coat." +</p> + +<p> +"White and tan," corrected Donovan. "He'll +be a capital dog when he's full-grown; he's +quite young now. What shall we call him? +Harlequin?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, that's too long, and it must mean something +that's lost and all alone," said Dot, +meditatively. "Rover would do, only it's so +common." +</p> + +<p> +"Vagabond, Tramp, Waif, or Stray," suggested +Donovan. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! Waif—that's beautiful, and so nice to +say. Does that mean something that's all +alone, with nobody to take care of it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, a thing tossed up by chance; it'll just +suit the beggar. We must teach him—" he +broke off hastily as the door opened, and rose +to meet his mother; but their greeting was +brief, for a sudden barking, yelling, and +howling filled the room, and caused both mother +and son to turn hastily. +</p> + +<p> +There stood the handsome Pomeranian in a +perfect fury, his tail absolutely bristling with +wrath, and there, from his vantage-ground on +the couch, stood the plucky little Waif, barking +vigorously in self-defence. Before Donovan +could re-cross the room, Fido had sprung on to +the couch and had seized the smaller dog by +the ear, while poor little Dot shrank back in +terror, adding her cries to the general hubbub. +Donovan's first care was to put one of his arms +between her and the combatants, and then, +seizing his opportunity, to sweep both dogs on +to the floor with the other. +</p> + +<p> +"Fido, Fido! my poor dog! Save him, +Donovan, take him from that savage creature!" +cried Mrs. Farrant, fairly roused and frightened. +</p> + +<p> +"He's twice the size of the other," said +Donovan; "he'll maul Dot's poor little puppy +to pieces. Leave off, you wretch!" and, with a +well-directed blow, he drew Fido's attention +from the fox-terrier's ear to his own hand, and, +after a sharp tussle with the angry animal, +succeeded in kicking him out of the room. +</p> + +<p> +"Where did this dreadful new dog come +from?" asked Mrs. Farrant. "I never saw a +more hideous creature. You surely don't intend +to keep it in the house?" +</p> + +<p> +"He shall not be in your way, and Fido will +not attack him again, I should think. He +certainly isn't a beauty, but he's of a very good +breed," and Donovan called the dog to him, +and began to examine his ear. +</p> + +<p> +"It is all bleeding," said Dot, piteously; +"and oh! Dono, look at your hand." +</p> + +<p> +"A souvenir of Fido's teeth," said Donovan, +smiling rather bitterly; for, though as a rule he +was exceedingly fond of animals, he had a +strange dislike to the Pomeranian—perhaps +because it usurped so much of his mother's time +and thoughts, perhaps because of the dog's +marked aversion to himself. +</p> + +<p> +"Dear me! I hope it won't bring on hydrophobia; +I have such a horror of hydrophobia," +said Mrs. Farrant, nervously contemplating the +wound from a distance. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll put a hot iron to it, if it will relieve +you," said Donovan, half scornfully, adding, +with a touch of malice, "And, if Fido is mad, a +bullet will soon settle him." +</p> + +<p> +It was an uncalled-for and foolish speech; it +touched Mrs. Farrant in her most sensitive part, +and widened the gulf between her and her son. +He felt it the next minute, and was vexed to +have put himself in the wrong. +</p> + +<p> +"You are very inconsiderate," said Mrs. Farrant, +plaintively. "You know what a companion +Fido is to me, and yet you can speak so +unfeelingly about his death. And the poor dog +may be hurt and suffering now. I must find +him at once." +</p> + +<p> +Donovan opened the door for her, just pausing +to see Fido run to meet her, safe and +unharmed; then he turned again into Dot's room, +muttering under his breath, "Managed to put +my foot into it, as usual!" +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Doery offered to bind up his hand, while +Dot, with all the colour flown from her cheeks, +watched sympathetically, observing at last, +after a long silence, +</p> + +<p> +"It is very odd, Dono, but you and mamma +never do like the same things." +</p> + +<p> +It had been an unfortunate meeting, there +was no doubt of that, the feud between the +dogs seemed likely to destroy what little peace +there ordinarily was in the household. +Everything was as usual against him, so Donovan +bitterly complained, he never got a fair start in +anything. It was with a very clouded brow +that he went down to dinner—the <i>tête-à-tête</i> +dinner with Mrs. Farrant. It was not that he +had expected great things, he knew the return +would be painful; but half unconsciously when +away from his mother she always slipped back +into a sort of faint resemblance to his childish +ideal; with him it was the very reverse of +the proverb—"<i>Les absens ont toujours +tort</i>." Absence invariably toned down his mother's +failings, magnified her good points. Thus at +every fresh meeting the terrible sense of loss +and insatiety was borne in upon him with new +force, and he was invariably sore-hearted, +restless, and ill at ease. This evening, too, he +was vexed with himself, and, with the perverseness +of a proud nature, he showed his vexation +not by trying to make amends for his unguarded +speech by extra courtesy, but by becoming +silent, and grave, and constrained. Perhaps it +was scarcely to be wondered at that, on returning +to the drawing-room after this singularly +dull and spiritless meal, Mrs. Farrant should at +once sink into an easy-chair and become +engrossed in a new novel. Donovan stayed only +a few minutes, his mother never looked up, +Fido growled at him; he resolved to go up at +once to Dot. But even this was denied him. +Mrs. Doery met him at the head of the stairs +like a dragon—he could not see Miss Dot, it +was impossible; she had been very much upset +indeed with all the excitement and noise, and +Mrs. Doery had just managed to get her to +sleep. +</p> + +<p> +Donovan slowly walked downstairs again. +Alone, with nothing to fall back upon, with a +miserable sense of present injustice, and a past +which he was always trying to escape from, +the quietness of the house seemed unbearable +to him. He must go somewhere, do something +to drown these miserable thoughts, to fill this +wretched emptiness. The servant was in the +dining-room clearing the table; he suddenly +made up his mind. +</p> + +<p> +"Tell Jones to saddle the cob at once." +</p> + +<p> +The order was given briefly and decidedly; +he turned on his heel, hesitated one moment, +then crossed the hall to the drawing-room. +</p> + +<p> +"I am going to ride over to Greyshot, +mother—can I do anything for you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing, thank you," said Mrs. Farrant, +drowsily; then, half rousing herself, "You'll +not be late, Donovan, because the servants +don't like sitting up." +</p> + +<p> +"I shall not be late," he repeated, mechanically, +as he glanced round the prettily-furnished +room, comparing it with that other brightly-lighted +room which he had looked into not +very long before. Such contrasts were +dangerous in his present state of mind; he closed the +door, and paced up and down the hall, fiercely +flicking at his boots with the end of his whip. +Then his horse was brought round, and, mounting +hastily, he rode off in the direction of the +neighbouring town. +</p> + +<p> +The cool evening air and the peaceful +summer twilight were in themselves soothing. +Donovan was neither artistic nor imaginative, +but yet such things had a certain influence over +him, and the beauty, perhaps still more the +peacefulness of the scene, quieted for a time +the bitter inward cry. But it could be only for +a time; his restless misery was far too great +to be subdued by any outward agency; he soon +fell back into his habitual reverie of gloomy +dissatisfaction. How perplexing and useless +life seemed to him!—the past how full of pain +and failure, the present how unjustly empty of +all that could be called happiness, the future +how dreary and hopeless! He put his horse +into a hand-gallop, and tried to stifle his +thoughts—tried to think of anything in the +world but his own wretchedness, but without +success; his mind was self-centred, his thoughts +naturally turned to that centre. He could force +himself for a time to think of other things, but +there was always an under-current of morbid +discontent colouring his views of everything. +</p> + +<p> +It was in this state of unavailing mental +struggle that he reached Greyshot. It was +now between eight and nine in the evening, +and the traffic of the day was nearly over, the +shops were closed, or in the act of closing, and +the pavements were crowded with people +belonging to the poorer classes, tired hard-worked +men and women, either returning from their +employment, or lounging about in the cool of +the evening for the sake of change and refreshment. +</p> + +<p> +Greyshot was rather a gay place, and, though +the season fell later in the year, the streets had +been fairly full that afternoon, when Donovan +had passed through them on his way from the +station to Oakdene. He was struck with the +contrast between the afternoon and evening +crowd. Fashionable, well-dressed, smiling idlers +at the one time; tired, hard-featured, shabby +toilers at the other. Here was fresh injustice, +he said, with his usual hasty judgment and +strong conviction. He almost hated himself +for riding at ease through the throng of tired +pedestrians; could only reconcile himself to it +by remembering his many grievances, and +surmising that the poorer street passengers were +better off than he in many ways. He did not +bring the same argument to bear on the question +of the afternoon promenaders, or remember +that the evening throng at least had the +satisfaction of using their life, while the +idlers—perhaps he himself—were simply abusing it. +</p> + +<p> +Still brooding over this injustice in the different +lots of men, he reached the town-hall, and +reined in his horse for a minute that he might +look at the various placards. He saw with +relief that something unusual must be going on +that night, for the hall was lighted, and a +pretty continuous stream of people, chiefly men, +were passing up the broad flight of steps. +"Grand Concert, on Wednesday Evening!" no, +that was the Wednesday in the following week; +a "Rose Show!" the next day; ah! here it +was. "This evening, at 8.30, Mr. Raeburn will +deliver a Lecture, in the Town Hall, on 'The +Existence of a God—Science versus +Superstition.'" Donovan looked at his watch; it +was exactly the half-hour. He hastily rode on +to the nearest inn, put up his horse, and, +returning, passed swiftly up the steps and into +the hall. +</p> + +<p> +The place was crowded with men, chiefly +artisans and mechanics, though with a sprinkling +of the more highly educated. Donovan +glanced first at the eager, listening throng, and +then instinctively his eyes followed theirs to the +platform at the further end of the room, and +were riveted as by a magic attraction on the +speaker. The fascination was instantaneous +and complete. He saw before him a tall, +powerful-looking man, with masses of tawny hair +overshadowing a very striking face—a face +which, in spite of its rather austere lines, still +allowed play to a variety of expressions: to +burning zeal, to infinite sadness, occasionally to +withering sarcasm. +</p> + +<p> +Luke Raeburn was, before all things, a strong +man, and in looking at him specialities sank +away into insignificance. His deep-set earnest +eyes, his firm uncompromising mouth attracted +little notice, because the whole man was pervaded +by a marvellous force, a concentration of +energy which carried all before it. His voice +was at once deep and powerful, aided by no +theatrical gestures, but made particularly +winning by its mellowness, its perfect modulations, +its thrill of intense earnestness. All these were +powerful accessories to the lecture itself. They +influenced Donovan undoubtedly, but it was not +the voice or the "presence" of the man which +stirred his soul so strangely. The very first +sentence which fell on his ear forced him to +listen as though his whole life depended on it. +"I can find, and you can give me, no proof of +God's existence." The words caused an electric +thrill of sympathy in his heart. He stood +motionless, quite unconscious of all around; his +whole being absorbed in the argument of the +lecturer—this man, who, through the firmness +of his convictions, was spending his life in +trying to overthrow what he termed the +"mischievous delusion of popular Christianity." +</p> + +<p> +To Donovan, with his miserable sense of +injustice, every word seemed a relief, although it +was only a more vigorous repetition of his own. +cry. But in this lay the secret of its influence. +The lecturer was putting into words, and +clothing with marvellously able arguments all his +own thoughts and opinions. To some of the +listeners the force and fascination of the lecture +lay in the novelty of the ideas it conveyed, but +with Donovan it was otherwise. The lecturer's +beliefs exactly coincided with all his own +ready-formed notions, and perhaps no idea is more +powerfully attractive than that which, being at +the same time higher and more subtly argued +than your own crude previously-formed judgment, +yet in the main corresponds with it. A +speedy sympathy is established; the pride of +the less gifted mind is gratified; the great +powerful intellect agrees with it, has experienced +its doubts, has felt its miseries. Donovan +felt himself one with the speaker, and he +was so very, very rarely agreed with anyone +that the sudden consciousness of unity and +sympathy was almost intoxicating in its novel +delight. He listened breathlessly to the clear, +satisfying arguments, and when, at the end of +an hour, the lecturer brought his address to a +close, and invited answers and objections to +what he had said, Donovan felt giddy and +exhausted, half inclined to leave the hall, and +yet unable to go while the man who had +fascinated him so strangely remained. During +the brief pause that ensued a middle-aged +mechanic, who was seated at the end of one +of the benches not far from the place where +Donovan stood, rose to go. Donovan moved +forward to take his place, and for a minute, +owing to a fresh influx of people, the two were +kept facing each other. A shade of pity crossed +the rough features of the mechanic as he looked +at the flushed, excited face of the boy, so young +and yet so full of unrest. +</p> + +<p> +"My lad," he said, in a low tone, "I see +you're sore moved, but take my advice and +come away. Yonder man speaks grand words, +but it's not the truth." +</p> + +<p> +Donovan was too much of a Republican to be +the least offended by this speech, but he was +little accustomed to receive good advice, still +less accustomed to put it in practice. He +hardly gave it an instant's consideration, so +firmly was his mind set upon hearing Raeburn +speak once more. +</p> + +<p> +"One doesn't get this chance every day," he +answered. "I must hear the end of it." +</p> + +<p> +And so the warning friend passed by, and +Donovan, having rejected the guidance sent, +took the vacant seat, and waited with some +impatience for the reply of the first objector. +</p> + +<p> +The speeches of the opponents were limited +to ten minutes, too ample an allowance, Donovan +thought, for the first speaker was insufferably +dull and wordy. After the clear, terse, +powerful sentences of the lecturer, anything so +verbose was at once irritating and bewildering, +and the minds of the audience, which had been +strained to the very highest tension during +Raeburn's address, now began to wander. +Donovan again found his gaze riveted on the +lecturer's face, and gave a sigh of relief when +the ten minutes' bell was struck in the middle +of one of the meandering sentences, before the +speaker had made a single point. After another +brief pause, a tall, nervous-looking clergyman +mounted the platform, and with evident reluctance, +conquered only by a sense of duty, began +to speak. His voice was weak, but he was +very much in earnest, almost painfully so, and +real earnestness felt and expressed cannot fail +to arouse interest. He prospered well at first, +yet his argument was not in the least conclusive +to Donovan's mind, and he was not surprised +when, at the close of the ten minutes, +Luke Raeburn drew attention to an utterly +illogical statement which had escaped the +speaker. An earnest parting protest and +attempted explanation were not of much use, for +Raeburn responded with perfect courtesy but +crushing logic, and the clergyman went back to +his place with a terribly grieved look. Donovan +saw it all, was sorry for the man, and half +won over by his humility, his evident sorrow, +and by sympathy with his sense of failure. +For a moment he wavered, or rather allowed +the arguments of the other side to recur to +him, but it was only for a moment. The third +speaker mounted the platform with no diffidence; +he was a large, solid, self-satisfied man, +with a voice which made the hall echo again. +Evidently he thought noise would make up for +want of matter, for he scarcely tried any steady +line of argument. He was vehement, positive, +illogical, and, after a violent tirade against the +wickedness of atheism, finally turned round +upon the lecturer, and hurled the most insolent +questions at him. Donovan was disgusted +alike at his vulgarity and the worthlessness of +his speech. Raeburn was at once invested with +the dignity of a martyr, or, at any rate, of an +unjustly-used man, and his sharp and marvellously +powerful retort delighted Donovan as +much as it irritated the vehement objector. +The contest ended grievously, for in a parting +protest the speaker hopelessly lost his temper, +became violent and abusive, and quitted the +platform and the hall in a towering rage. It +was a sad display for one who professed to be +an ardent supporter of Christianity. Luke +Raeburn felt that nothing could have weakened the +cause more successfully, and naturally he did +not hesitate to use the argument in favour of +his own views. +</p> + +<p> +There was a prolonged pause after the exit +of the angry man; no other objectors cared to +come forward, however, and at length Raeburn +stood up for his final speech. The clear, quiet, +impressive tones fell like rain after a +thunderstorm upon the rapt listening men. Donovan +scarcely breathed; he had never in his whole +life heard anything so marvellously attractive. +The cool penetrating words, the sarcastic yet +dignified allusions to the last speech, the +wonderfully able arguments, were irresistible to +him. This man was in earnest, terribly in +earnest, and he had the grave calmness of perfect +conviction. +</p> + +<p> +What was he upholding, too? Self-restraint, +self-sacrifice, temperance, truth at whatever +cost. There was indeed much that was noble +and elevating in his speech—only the one great +blank, which to Donovan was no blank at all. +</p> + +<p> +It was over at last, the assembly broke up, +and Donovan groped his way down the street, +and mounting his horse, rode back to Oakdene +in the starlight. He felt wonderfully stimulated +by what he had heard, roused to enthusiasm for +the man, for the views he held, for the life of +toil for the general good which he not only +recommended, but himself lived. Luke Raeburn +had influenced him greatly, but it was the +speech of the self-satisfied opponent which sent +him home that night a confirmed atheist, a +bitter-hearted despiser of Christianity. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap06"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER VI. +<br><br> +AUTUMN MANŒUVRES. +</h2> + +<p class="intro"> + Love seeketh not itself to please,<br> + Nor for itself hath any care,<br> + But for another gives its ease,<br> + And builds a heaven in hell's despair.<br> + WILLIAM BLAKE.<br> +</p> + +<p class="intro"> + Give a dog a bad name, and hang him.<br> + <i>Proverb.</i><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Ellis Farrant had taken Donovan up to +town on the pretext of arranging various +matters of business, but he had been careful to +leave many things unattended to, as he was +anxious to have an excuse for a speedy visit to +Oakdene. His guardianship was likely to prove +a very convenient aid in the furtherance of his +scheme, for what could be more natural than +that he should frequently go down to inspect +his young wards, and what could offer more +convenient opportunities for winning his way +with Mrs. Farrant than such visits. A little +time, however, must be allowed to pass first. +Ellis made arrangement for staying in town till +the middle of July, and resolved to go down to +Oakdene then, for as long a visit as seemed +advisable. +</p> + +<p> +His arrival really pleased and roused +Mrs. Farrant, for it must be owned that Oakdene had +not been the liveliest of homes during the +summer. Visitors of course had not been +received, Donovan had been unusually taciturn +and moody, and though the favourite Fido, and +the unfailing succession of new books, and the +comfortable sofa by the open window, rendered +life bearable, any interruption to such quiet +monotony was a relief even to one so indolent +as Mrs. Farrant. +</p> + +<p> +To Donovan the arrival of his cousin brought +a strange mixture of annoyance and satisfaction. +He too was glad of an interruption to +the dreary quiet of the house, but nevertheless +Ellis managed to irritate him not a little. The +nominal business matters which had formed the +excuse for the visit were put forward from time +to time, but neither mother nor son was +business-like, and Ellis used to let the conversation +float on quietly into other channels, so that +very little was really arrived at. He was a +clever, shrewd man, and his visit was a long +series of manœuvres. He never lost sight of +his two great aims, the first was to win the +regard and confidence of Mrs. Farrant, and to +secure this he studied most carefully her +character and tastes; the second was to induce +Donovan to lead as inexpensive a life as might be, +during the time of his guardianship. What +became of him after he was of age he neither +cared nor thought of, for before that time he +hoped to have won Mrs. Farrant's hand. +</p> + +<p> +It was about two or three days from the +beginning of his visit that he first began to +question Donovan cautiously as to the future. +They were out riding when he resolved to risk +the attempt. +</p> + +<p> +"Beautiful country about here," he remarked, +carelessly. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," replied Donovan, laconically; he did +not care to show any interest in such a remark +from one who evidently cared nothing in reality +for scenery. +</p> + +<p> +"Much hunting in the neighbourhood?" +</p> + +<p> +"No; it's not a hunting county." +</p> + +<p> +"But you have good shooting, I hear." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! yes, we can have any amount of that. +Won't you come down for it this autumn?" +</p> + +<p> +"Thanks. If I have time I should like +nothing better. You will be here of course?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I suppose so," said Donovan, rather +hesitatingly. +</p> + +<p> +Ellis Farrant felt a little uneasy. Had the +boy made up his mind to go to the university? +Would he want to enter any expensive profession? +He must find out, and, if so, try to put +some reasonable obstacle in the way. +</p> + +<p> +"You have found these months a little dull, +I expect, but next year you'll be up in town for +the season—it'll be very different." +</p> + +<p> +"Life's disgusting everywhere," said Donovan, +gloomily. +</p> + +<p> +"No, no," replied the man of the world, +lightly. "There's plenty of enjoyment if you +look out for it. Cheer up, my boy, you let +yourself brood over things too much. 'Let +bygones be bygones,' and face the future, and +let your guardian know plainly what you want." +</p> + +<p> +The speech sounded frank and kindly. +Donovan involuntarily came a little out of his +shell. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know that there's anything I want," +he said, slowly, "and yet I want everything. +Did you ever feel as if nothing in the whole +world were worth a fig, as if nothing could ever +satisfy you?" +</p> + +<p> +A perplexing question! Why did the perverse +fellow begin to moralize on abstract subjects, +just when he wanted to arrive at plain +facts? +</p> + +<p> +"I know quite well what you mean," he +replied, glibly. "You will soon live it down. +I think you should mix more with companions +of your own age." +</p> + +<p> +He felt that this was a hazardous suggestion, +but ventured it with his customary boldness. +</p> + +<p> +"I hate fellows of my own age," said Donovan, +shortly. +</p> + +<p> +"You are a misanthrope, I'm afraid," said +Ellis, breathing more freely. "You would not +like to go to Oxford or Cambridge, I suppose." +</p> + +<p> +"No, certainly not." +</p> + +<p> +"And you are not exactly—not passionately—fond +of work?" +</p> + +<p> +Donovan smiled a little. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, no, I can't say I am." +</p> + +<p> +"You would not like to be a barrister or a—parson?" +</p> + +<p> +"I?" cried Donovan, in amaze. "In all +conscience—no!" +</p> + +<p> +"There is no need, not the slightest," said +Ellis. "In fact, I don't think you're in the +least suited for any profession. You can live +on here very comfortably. No doubt your +mother will make you a handsome allowance when +you're of age; for, though you are not exactly +your father's heir, it will come to much the +same thing in the end." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I suppose so," said the unconscious +Donovan. +</p> + +<p> +"I should rather like you to do a little +reading, however," continued Ellis. "I must +not forget that you are my ward, you +know. What do you say to going in to +some tutor at Greyshot two or three times a +week?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't mind. I will do so, if you wish. +How would a travelling tutor be? I must say +I should like to spend a few months abroad." +</p> + +<p> +An inconvenient and expensive project! If +Donovan were away, he could not come down +to Oakdene so easily. But Ellis was too +far-sighted to give a definite refusal to the request. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, we will think of it," he said, quite in +his pleasantest manner. "I'm glad you told me +what was in your mind. We can talk it over +with your mother." +</p> + +<p> +The two relapsed into silence after this, Ellis +trying to think of reasonable objections to this +new idea, Donovan sketching out in his mind +the plan of his tour on the continent. He +longed inexpressibly for change of scene, and +travelling offered very strong attractions to +his restless mind. +</p> + +<p> +But a sudden revulsion of feeling came before +long. As they rode down the long, shady +drive, and dismounted at the door of the Manor, +he heard a childish voice calling him, and +looking up, he saw Dot's little pale face eagerly +watching him from her window. +</p> + +<p> +He mounted the stairs very slowly, struggling +hard with himself. Dot would certainly miss +him very much, would be much happier if he +did not go, and yet the craving within him for +change was almost irresistible. Oakdene began +to feel like a prison to him. Selfishness, or, as +he called it, common sense, whispered that it +was mere folly to think he could always be tied +down to one place. It would be narrowing, +cramping, bad for his health. The absurdity of +thinking of this, however, struck him with +sudden force as he entered Dot's room. How +could he think of himself so much, when she +lay on the same weary couch day after day, and +yet contrived to be so patient! +</p> + +<p> +"I'm so glad you've come back, Dono," she +exclaimed. "Doery's been down in the +housekeeper's room for hours, and Waif and I have +been so dull." +</p> + +<p> +The loneliness rose up before him vividly—months +and months of it. At the same time a +glorious vision of life abroad—Italy, Switzerland, +mountains, freedom! He was quite silent, +but Dot was accustomed to his taciturn moods, +and chattered on contentedly. +</p> + +<p> +"And poor Waif, you forgot to take him +with you, and he was so miserable when he +heard you ride off, he scratched at the door +and whined dreadfully, and I couldn't of course +get up to let him out, so at last he came back +very sadly with his tail between his legs, and +cuddled up to me for comfort. Do you know, +Dono, I believe he begins to love you as I do, +almost." +</p> + +<p> +"And you don't cry when I go out riding," +said Donovan, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +"No, only when you go quite away; when +you used to go back to school, and when Cousin +Ellis took you away last time." +</p> + +<p> +"What a silly little Dot! What makes you cry?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why, because I love you so," said Dot, +wistfully. "And everything seems so horrid when +you're away. Will you have to go away again, +do you think? Will Cousin Ellis and the +lawyers want you any more?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! no, I shall not be going away again," +he said, in rather a forced voice. Then, after a +pause: "I say, Dot, this room is stifling. Shall +I open the other window?" +</p> + +<p> +She assented, and he crossed the room quickly, +threw up the sash, gulped down a mouthful +of fresh air, and registered a silent vow that he +would never leave her. +</p> + +<p> +"I wonder what makes your forehead look so +battered to-day," resumed Dot, as he sat down +beside her again. "It always reminds me of a +bent penny I had for a long time. And some +days the bend in the middle seems to show +more. I think it's on the days when you don't +talk much." +</p> + +<p> +Donovan laughed heartily, shook off his +taciturnity, and did his best according to Dot's +principles to straighten his brow. +</p> + +<p> +"A phrenologist once told me that my forehead +meant all sorts of things: mathematical +ability, reasoning, and music, but he was sadly +out, poor man, in that last, for I haven't a grain +of music in me." +</p> + +<p> +"I wish you had," said Dot, "because I like +it so much, and the hand-organs so very seldom +come." +</p> + +<p> +"Shall I get one, and grind away in the passage?" +</p> + +<p> +"That would be always the same one. We +should get so tired of the tunes." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," said Donovan, laughing again. "Don't +you remember the story of the organ-grinder +who somehow came into some money, and the +first thing he did was to rush frantically at his +organ with, 'Bother! you shall never go round +again,' and smash it to pieces." +</p> + +<p> +Dot laughed long and merrily. +</p> + +<p> +"I wish you could play the piano as Cousin +Adela used to. It sounded so nice coming up +from the drawing-room." +</p> + +<p> +"Would you really like it?" said Donovan. +"I will try to learn then. We'll have a piano +over from Greyshot, and it can be put up here." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! Dono, how delightful! But won't it be +dull for you, as you don't like music? And do +you think you'll be able to learn?" +</p> + +<p> +"We'll have no end of fun over it," he +replied, cheerfully. "And as to being able—I +believe we're able to do anything we've a will +for." +</p> + +<p> +That evening, after Mrs. Farrant had left the +dinner-table, Donovan relieved his guardian's +mind by one of his quick abrupt speeches. +</p> + +<p> +"On thinking it over, I find I had better not +go abroad." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! just as you like, my dear fellow," said +Ellis, trying to conceal his satisfaction. "Most +happy to advance you the necessary funds, you +know. I should think though that, as you say, +it would be better to stay here. Your mother +will be glad to have you." +</p> + +<p> +Donovan bit his lip, and did not reply, and +Ellis, perfectly well aware that he had touched +on a sore subject, changed the conversation. +His ward's decision was convenient. For once +he must be careful to please and humour him a +little, so he renounced for a time the pleasure +of irritating his victim, and they spent a very +amicable evening over the billiard-table. +</p> + +<p> +It is an undisputed fact that one piece of +villainy invariably leads to others. When Ellis +Farrant, in a moment of anger and disappointment, +had destroyed his cousin's will, he never +once thought of all it would lead to, but little +by little he began to realise that a good deal of +plotting and scheming would be necessary, and +perhaps a few trifling deceptions and injustices, +before he could profit by his crime. He was +relieved to find that the coldness between the +mother and son still existed, for it was, of +course, all in his favour. He had rather +dreaded the effects of those months of quiet +intercourse; but all had gone as he wished. +Mrs. Farrant did not in the least understand +Donovan, he was not in any sense a comfort to her, +therefore there was all the more hope that she +might be led to confide in Ellis, that he might +become a necessary part of her existence. +During this visit he was obliged to be kind and +conciliatory to his ward, and was too +prudent to show any marked attentions to +Mrs. Farrant, but he succeeded in enlivening the +house wonderfully, and received a pressing +invitation to come down in the autumn, bringing +his sister Adela with him. He remained +till the 12th of August, and then went up to +the North for grouse-shooting, well satisfied +with his success at Oakdene. +</p> + +<p> +The Manor was not a little dull after he left. +Mrs. Farrant, to relieve the monotony, sent out +her cards, and found some slight occupation in +receiving the visits of her neighbours and +acquaintance. Donovan rode in to Greyshot +three times a week to his tutor's, studied +"Mill's Logic," and worked hard at his music. +Strangely, although he was really no lover of +the art, he found a peculiar satisfaction in +working even at the mechanical exercises; his +master scarcely knew what to make of a pupil +who, with very little actual talent, surmounted +difficulties so quickly, and showed such untiring +perseverance. Indolent as he seemed, he could +yet show the most indefatigable zeal when he +had a sufficient motive, and, with a view to +pleasing Dot, he bent his whole will to the +work. +</p> + +<p> +With the exception of this satisfactory effort, +the autumn was a very painful one to him. As +soon as his mother began to receive visitors +again, he could not fail to become aware of the +marked coldness with which almost everyone +treated him. He had never had any special +friends in the neighbourhood, but now he +noticed that old acquaintances who had formerly +been civil and friendly looked askance at him; +he was under a cloud, he had lost his good +name. It was not much to be wondered at, +perhaps, and yet it seemed cruelly hard that he +should be thus cut off from all intercourse with +those better than himself. The cautious world +said, with its usual prudence, that it would +never do not to show marked disapproval of +disgrace and wrong-doing. Donovan Farrant +had been expelled from school for most +dishonourable behaviour (his crimes were by this time +absurdly exaggerated by report), it was quite +impossible that he could be allowed to mix +with the immaculate sons of the neighbouring +homes. Intercourse must be as much as +possible discouraged; the acquaintance was most +undesirable. A young man who never went to +church, who had been seen at one of Raeburn's +lectures, who was dangerously handsome, and +unmitigatedly bad, could not be visited. The +neighbours all tried to ignore his existence; he +was either entirely cut, or treated with the +coldest and most distant civility. +</p> + +<p> +Misanthrope as he was, Donovan felt this +treatment keenly, and resented it. It was hard, +and cruel, and unjust; he used it, as he used +everything else at that time, as an argument +against Christianity. Nor did his mother make +matters pleasanter to him. She, too, found out +the coldness with which he was treated, and it +vexed her; one or two of the more kind-hearted +neighbours referred delicately to the subject, +and, though Mrs. Farrant paid little attention +to her son's doings as a rule, this roused her to +remonstrate with him. +</p> + +<p> +"Donovan," she said, in her complaining +tone, one evening, "I really wish you would +be more careful how you go on. Mrs. Ward +was here to-day, and she said she was extremely +sorry to hear that you had attended some +shocking infidel lecture at Greyshot. Is it true +that you went?" +</p> + +<p> +"Perfectly, barring the adjectives," replied +Donovan, crossing the room, and resting his +elbow on the mantel-piece. +</p> + +<p> +"But really you should not do such things," +said Mrs. Farrant, plaintively. "What made +you think of going?" +</p> + +<p> +"I wished to hear Luke Raeburn's views," +said Donovan, still keeping his face steadily +turned towards her. +</p> + +<p> +"It is absurd for a boy of your age to think +of such things. What can you understand about +his views?" +</p> + +<p> +"More than I can of any other views. But +I'm no Raeburnite—I don't care enough for the human race." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Farrant wandered off to another grievance. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I really wish you wouldn't get +yourself so talked about; it's very unpleasant for +me. Why won't you come to church on +Sunday, and be like other young men?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because, whatever I am, I'll not be a +hypocrite," said Donovan, with some sharpness. +</p> + +<p> +There was silence for some minutes after this. +Mrs. Farrant fanned herself, and Donovan +tormented the feathers of an Indian hand-screen. +At last, with a rather softened expression, he +continued— +</p> + +<p> +"I'm sorry, mother, if I spoke rudely, but +that is a thing I cannot do to please anyone. +If you dislike my going to hear Raeburn so +much, I will not do it again." +</p> + +<p> +"I only wish you not to make yourself a +byword to the neighbourhood," said Mrs. Farrant, +rather peevishly. "I do not care what +you do as long as you behave respectably." +</p> + +<p> +"No, you care for nothing, I see, as long as +people hold their tongues," said Donovan, with +one of his rare and curiously sudden bursts of +passion. "Is it wonderful that I should be +going to the dogs, when this is all you give +me? What else can you expect?" +</p> + +<p> +She did not in the least understand him, but +his vehemence terrified her; she burst into tears. +</p> + +<p> +"It is very unkind of you to speak so angrily; +you know how anything of this sort upsets +me," she sobbed. "I did think that the only +son of a widow was expected to show some +feeling for his mother, and you—you are only +a grief and a disgrace to me." +</p> + +<p> +He was softened in an instant, tried to take +her hand in his, and spoke as gently and +tenderly as he would have spoken to Dot. +</p> + +<p> +"Forgive me, mother—I am a wretch; but +indeed, if you would let me, I would try to be +more to you." +</p> + +<p> +He would have said more, but words never +came easily to him, and he felt half choked now +with emotion. +</p> + +<p> +"You are so inconsiderate," said Mrs. Farrant, +drying her eyes. "I'm sure I wish your +guardian were here; he at least would have +some sympathy with me. I wish you would +try to copy him a little more." +</p> + +<p> +The reference to one whom Donovan so little-liked +or respected was very trying; he drew back. +</p> + +<p> +"It is just as I told you at Porthkerran," +continued Mrs. Farrant. "You never think of +anyone but yourself, you are always bringing trouble +and sorrow to others." Then, looking up, and +seeing that Donovan, in his agitation, was +breaking the feathers of the hand-screen, she +sharpened her voice, "Cannot you even help +destroying the things your poor father brought +back?" +</p> + +<p> +He did not attempt to answer. What was +the use of speaking? What was the use of +trying to bridge over the hopeless gulf between +them? It was more in despair than in passion +that he flung down the screen and strode out +of the room. +</p> + +<p> +After this there was peace for some little +time, if such dreary aimless existence could be +called peace. There was, at any rate, no open +disagreement. Mrs. Farrant was too inert and +Donovan too self-restrained to admit of frequent +quarrels between them; they lived on in quiet +coldness, meeting at meal times, talking on +indifferent subjects, then parting again, each to +resume his or her separate life. There were +faults perhaps on both sides, a resolute and +continuous effort from either must have broken +down such an unnatural state of things. But +neither of them made such an effort, Mrs. Farrant, +even had she thought of it, would have +been too indolent to persevere; Donovan had +tried twice, and thrown up the attempt, at once +too proud and too hopeless to resume it. +</p> + +<p> +In October Ellis Farrant came according to +his promise, bringing his sister Adela with him. +She was some years his junior, and as she had +the same class of good looks and general +brilliancy as her brother, and dressed fashionably, +she still passed for a "young" lady, although +she was considerably over thirty. Ellis had not +introduced her to Oakdene without a special +reason. She of course knew nothing of the +depth of his schemes, but he trusted her with +enough to make her a valuable ally. +</p> + +<p> +"Now this is how matters stand," he had +said to her, as they were driving from Greyshot +to Oakdene. "Mrs. Farrant is as dull as she +well can be in this hole of a place, and I want +to have plenty of opportunities for letting her +feel that I can enliven it. Do you understand +me, or must I speak more plainly." +</p> + +<p> +His sister laughed and shrugged her shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +"Do not trouble yourself, I understand +perfectly. You wish to be beforehand with the +army of suitors who are sure to attend upon a +pretty, rich widow, by no means past her +youth." +</p> + +<p> +"Exactly," said Ellis, rubbing his hands with +satisfaction. "Last time I was here I could do +but little, it was too early days, for one thing, +and then there was the boy to be looked after; +but now I want you to engross him a little, and +set me at liberty—do you see?" +</p> + +<p> +Adela Farrant laughed again. +</p> + +<p> +"You cunning Ellis! You have entrapped +me into a dull country house just to further +your own ends, and then you set me down to +amuse a schoolboy." +</p> + +<p> +"Pardon me, but he is by no means a boy," +said Ellis. "He is, or considers himself, all +sorts of things, a philosopher, a radical, an +atheist, and, joking apart, he really is old for +his years. You may find him a little stiff and +haughty at first, but you'll soon get to know him, +and he'll give you some amusement; besides, +he's handsome—very—an Apollo—an Adonis." +</p> + +<p> +"And in his nineteenth year!" concluded +Adela, with a gesture of contempt. "However, +I'll try to amuse him, out of regard for you. +Why, here we are at the Manor, and there is +your Apollo of the clustering curls at the door. +What a grave saturnine face! but you're quite +right, he's very good-looking; Roman, not +Greek, though. Augustus Cæsar come to life again." +</p> + +<p> +The first evening was, according to Ellis +Farrant's views, a perfect success. He had free +scope for conversation with Mrs. Farrant, and +she grew quite merry and talkative under the +combined influence of his attentions and his +sister's animation and gaiety. +</p> + +<p> +"It is so pleasant to hear fresh voices," she +said at dinner time. "I grow very tired of +<i>tête-à-tête</i> dinners with Donovan." +</p> + +<p> +This was exactly what Ellis wished, it was +quite an effort to conceal his satisfaction. He +looked at the young host at the head of the +table, and wondered how he would enjoy being +ousted from his position. +</p> + +<p> +Adela's work was not quite so easy. She +found Donovan very grave, almost repellent, +not at all inclined to be more than coldly +courteous. She persevered, however, and, being +clever and really good-natured, she gradually +won her way. Nor was she so dull as she had +fancied would be the case. The haughty <i>nil +admirari</i> spirit of her special charge rather +attracted her. She found herself really anxious to +win his good opinion, and set herself to find out +his likes and dislikes. And Donovan really +liked her in a manner, was grateful for her +kindness, and felt a sort of relief in having a +bright, talkative, pleasant woman in the house. +When Ellis did not care to go out shooting, +Adela generally proposed a ride, and so +managed to engross her young cousin for two or +three hours; in the evening, too, she would +keep him turning over the leaves of her music +in the back drawing-room, leaving her brother +to amuse Mrs. Farrant, and her light, meaningless +talk generally sufficed to prevent the chance +of their being interrupted by Donovan. +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes, however, her conversation jarred +on his mind. One afternoon when Adela in +her light fawn-coloured dress was sauntering +round the garden, gathering a few late roses, +with her usual cavalier in attendance, their talk +turned upon rather graver matters than was +ordinarily the case. +</p> + +<p> +"What a pretty view that is of the church +tower," she exclaimed. "I should like to sketch +it, such a tiny grey little place it is! but +really I was quite surprised last Sunday to find +it a regular resort of fashion, the toilettes were +amazing, quite a study; your mother says that +the people come to it from Greyshot, that they +are attracted by the surpliced choir and the +chanting. It seems so odd to think of things +of that sort being novelties; you are +dreadfully behind the world here in Mountshire." +</p> + +<p> +"No great loss perhaps in those matters," +said Donovan. +</p> + +<p> +"What a prosaic mind you have!" said his +cousin, lightly. "And, by-the-by, that reminds +me, I meant to take you to task before. Last +Sunday I looked round expecting to find you +ready to carry my prayer-book, and behold! you +were nowhere to be seen. Your mother says you +never do go to church. How is that? it is +really very shocking, you know." +</p> + +<p> +"One can't profess what one does not +believe," said Donovan, gravely. +</p> + +<p> +Adela passed on into the greenhouse and cut +the last rose there before replying; then, joining +him again, she said, in her light half laughing +tone, +</p> + +<p> +"You men are really dreadful now-a-days, +the whole race seems to have grown sceptical. +Now, why don't you come to church, and be +good and orthodox?" +</p> + +<p> +As she spoke she handed him the rose to put +into the basket. It was an exquisite blush rose, +and he held it in his hand abstractedly, not +exactly seeing its beauty, and yet feeling some +subtle influence from its purity and fragrance. +He did not answer, and Adela continued: +</p> + +<p> +"Don't think I shall be hard on you, there +never was a more lenient person—besides, +scepticism is always interesting. Not, you +know, that I am not all that is proper and +orthodox, you mustn't think that for a moment. +I like to be <i>comme il faut</i> in everything—that is +not quite a right expression, is it? more suited +to matters of etiquette than religion,—however, +it does not signify, turn it into Latin in your +mind. I am very orthodox, but I can quite +sympathise with sceptics—is that sense? Now +do tell me why you don't believe the things that +I believe; they say it is always well to hear all +sides of a question, and on this subject I have +scarcely heard anything." +</p> + +<p> +She had rattled on in her usual fashion without +looking up; had she noticed the change in +Donovan's face, her womanly tact would have +warned her to be more careful, for he looked as +nearly contemptuous as good manners would +allow. His voice, was grave and displeased as +he replied, and had a strange ring of pain in it. +</p> + +<p> +"It is not a subject I care to discuss, thank you." +</p> + +<p> +They walked on in silence, Donovan trying +uneasily to understand his own feelings. <i>Why</i> +did he not care to discuss this subject? Was +it that his cousin's lightness jarred on him? was +there some latent sense of reverence in him—some +yet slumbering faith faintly touched by +her flippant tones? Or was it—could it +be—that he, Donovan Farrant, was ashamed of the +views he held? ashamed of not being like the +rest of the world? +</p> + +<p> +Adela knew, from the tone of the answer +which her question received, that she had +made a mistake; flippant, conventional, +semi-religious talk evidently grated somehow on +her cousin's mind; she made haste to recover +her place in his estimation by referring to the +subject nearest his heart. +</p> + +<p> +"Shall we take these flowers to Dot? She +likes flowers in her room, doesn't she?" +</p> + +<p> +His brow cleared instantly. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, let us go. Dot is very fond of you, +Cousin Adela; you have cheered her up wonderfully." +</p> + +<p> +Adela smiled; her kindness to little Dot was +the one fair bright spot in her life just then; it +was pleasant to dwell on one thing in which +her motive was really good, and she was too +really kind to like to remember that she was +acting as a sort of decoy towards Donovan. +</p> + +<p> +Dot held out her hands eagerly for the flowers. +</p> + +<p> +"What beauties!" she cried. "I was afraid +they were all over." +</p> + +<p> +Donovan took the blush rose and arranged it +in her dress, where its soft colours helped to +relieve the blackness. +</p> + +<p> +"You and Cousin Adela have had such a +long talk," said Dot, watching with interest +while the flowers were arranged in her vase. +"I saw you from my window. What were +you talking about?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh!" said Adela, with a little pause, as she +adjusted a leaf, "we were talking about the +church." +</p> + +<p> +"There's many changes there, miss," said +Mrs. Doery, looking up from her work. "Seems +to be the way with these new-fangled ministers. +Still they say the boys in their whites is very +attractive, and nobody can't deny that the +church is fuller than it used to be." +</p> + +<p> +"I have been telling Mr. Donovan that +Mountshire is very much behind the world," +said Adela. "In our parts we should be quite +surprised not to find a choir." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, miss, I suppose it's very right and +proper, but for myself I liked the old days +when we had just the parson and the clerk. +Now they sing-song all the things so, and I +can't seem to pick myself up." +</p> + +<p> +Adela tried not to laugh, and asked the +name of the clergyman. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Golding, he's the white-haired one. +You'd 'ave thought he was too old to like such +new ways, but I make no doubt he's led on by +the curate, who is but young; and as to him, +miss, he gets through the service so quick you +wouldn't believe, but I never can hear a word +when he reads off the old fowl's back." +</p> + +<p> +Adela and Donovan burst out laughing, and +no sense of the respect due to Mrs. Doery could +stop them. Dot, not understanding, looked +perplexed till Adela explained. +</p> + +<p> +"The reading-desk in church, dear, the lectern, +is like an eagle. Oh! Mrs. Doery, you +mustn't mind our laughing, but really that is +worthy of <i>Punch</i>." +</p> + +<p> +Doery was, luckily, not at all offended. She +could not pretend to learn all the new names +they gave the things, and probably she thought +of the lectern as the "old fowl" till the day of +her death. +</p> + +<p> +After a certain fashion, Adela's visit really +did Donovan some good. It roused him from +his moody silence, made a change in his +monotonous life, and shielded him to some extent +from Ellis Farrant's annoyances. For, during +this visit, Ellis was not all careful to keep +himself in the boy's good graces, and, in the +brief time that they were necessarily thrown +together, managed to annoy him considerably. +Donovan had always the ruffled, uncomfortable +consciousness that his guardian was making a +good thing out of his office. He was naturally +very careless about money matters, scarcely +giving them a thought; but even easy and +generous natures are often roused by feeling +that they are being traded upon. The length +and frequency of his cousin's visits might be +overlooked perhaps, but when, in the course +of the month, he went with Donovan to some +races at a neighbouring town, and coolly put +down all the expenses to Mrs. Farrant, his ward +was naturally indignant; and this happened +not once only, but several times. The loss of +the money was nothing, but the injustice was +very irritating. Injustice was Donovan's +watchword, and this slight but aggravating specimen +of it was a constant thorn in his side. +</p> + +<p> +Another vexing thing was Ellis Farrant's +behaviour to his mother. He used to perform +all kinds of little services for her; waiting on +her sedulously on every possible occasion, with +a marked ostentation which seemed always +trying to indicate to Donovan, "This is what +you ought to do." Even had such attentions +been possible to him, he would have been +for too proud to take such a broad hint, and +Ellis was probably aware of this, or he would +not have risked giving the advice: it was +everything to him that Mrs. Farrant should feel +the great difference between his conduct and +her son's. On the whole, there was some reason +in Donovan's complaint that autumn—life had +always seemed to him hard and perplexing, and +it grew more so. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap07"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER VII. +<br><br> +THE BLACK SHEEP OF OAKDENE. +</h2> + +<p class="intro"> + O, ye wha are sae guid yoursel',<br> + Sae pious, and sae holy,<br> + Ye've nought to do but mark and tell<br> + Your neebour's faults and folly.<br> + Ye see your state with theirs compar'd,<br> + And shudder at the niffer,<br> + But cast a moment's fair regard<br> + What maks the mighty differ?<br> +</p> + +<p class="intro"> + * * * * * * *<br> +</p> + +<p class="intro"> + Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail,<br> + Right on ye scud your sea-way,<br> + But in the teeth o' baith to sail,<br> + It makes an unco lee way.<br> +</p> + +<p class="intro"> + <i>Address to the Unco Guid, or Rigidly Righteous</i>. BURNS.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"I may be wrong, Mr. Ward. I can't +pretend to much wisdom. I'm an old, +unlettered man, but it seems to me that folks are +rather hard on the poor boy; but I may be +wrong, I quite allow I may be wrong." +</p> + +<p> +The speaker was a grey-haired, elderly man, +with a thin, worn face, kind eyes, and rather +bent shoulders. His companion, Mr. Ward, +was the Squire of Oakdene, a short, broad, +grey-whiskered country gentleman, somewhat +bluff, but still good-natured enough in his way. +The two were returning from a meeting of the +church-wardens on an afternoon in January, +and happening to see Donovan Farrant +sauntering along the road in front of them, with his +dog at his heels, they had begun to talk of +him. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm sure I wish to be hard on no one," said +the squire, swinging his stick rather vigorously. +"But you know, Hayes, the fellow has a very +bad reputation. No one has a good word to +say for him." +</p> + +<p> +"Poor boy," said old Mr. Hayes, compassionately. +"I suppose it's all true; but you know +one must remember that he's never had a father +to look after him." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I know that," said the squire, reflectively; +he had sons of his own, and had very +strong ideas about paternal influence. "That's +quite true, and may excuse him to a certain +extent. But then it's impossible to take up +with him. I couldn't have him mixing with +Harry and Ned. It isn't that I wish to be +uncivil to the boy, but really it would be most +unwise. I don't know what Mrs. Ward would +say if I proposed it. Now you, Hayes, it's +different with you; you're a bachelor, and could +easily be a little friendly with him." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," hesitated Mr. Hayes; "but you know +I'm afraid he'd find me a very dull companion. +I'm only a stupid old man, and he is young, and +very clever, they say." +</p> + +<p> +"Bosh!" said the squire, contemptuously—"he +ought to be proud to shake hands with +you. You're a great deal too humble-minded, +Hayes. I've no idea of being so deferential to +the young generation. There's a great deal +too little of the Fifth Commandment now-a-days; +it wasn't so when I was a boy." +</p> + +<p> +"I felt very sorry for them this Christmas," +resumed Mr. Hayes, gently; "the Manor must +have been a sad house; but it's very hard to +know how to help people when you can't send +them blankets, or coals, or Christmas dinners." +</p> + +<p> +"And young Farrant is a precious deal too +proud to be helped in any way," said Mr. Ward, +with a laugh. "But, after all, I am sorry for +the boy; it's a sad start in life to have lost +one's good name. What's he after now, stooping +down in the snow? We shall catch him up, +and, if so, I must speak to him." +</p> + +<p> +A miserable-looking cat, drenched with water, +and with a tin pot tied to its tail, had been +lying half dead by the roadside. Donovan, +who was a great lover of animals, had of course +hastened to the rescue; he had just released +the poor terrified creature from its instrument +of torture, and was holding it in his arms, +rubbing its wet draggled fur, when, hearing steps, +he glanced round, and found himself face to +face with Mr. Ward and Mr. Hayes. The colour +rushed to his cheeks; he had not time to assume +the look of cold haughty indifference with +which he usually confronted his neighbours. +He looked so handsome and boyish, and so +unlike a reprobate, that Mr. Ward felt his +compassion rising and his scruples diminishing; +besides, the conversation had rather softened +him, and he held out his hand cordially. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, Farrant, how are you? Mrs. Farrant +is quite well, I hope? You know Mr. Hayes, +don't you? Why, what's that?—a drowned cat?" +</p> + +<p> +"Some brute of a boy has nearly killed it," +said Donovan, indignation making him speak +naturally. "I think it will come round, though, +as soon as I can get it to a fire." +</p> + +<p> +That an atheist should bestow his attention +on a stray cat was very surprising to the squire. +He began to like the fellow. After all, there +was some good in him. +</p> + +<p> +"Had any skating yet?" he asked, in his +kindly voice. +</p> + +<p> +"No; our pond is half overgrown with mares-tail; +besides, it's too small to be worth anything." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! you must come over to our place," said +the squire, with good-humour, which astonished +Mr. Hayes. "Our young people have been on +the small lake to-day, and I daresay the large +one will bear to-morrow. You used to be rather +a swell at skating, if I remember right." +</p> + +<p> +"I am very fond of it," said Donovan, and his +eyes danced. +</p> + +<p> +"Then come over to-morrow, and whenever +you like; it isn't often we get a frost like this." +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you—I will be sure to come," said +Donovan; and as they parted he lifted his eyes +to the squire's with a long searching look, at +once wistful and surprised; then, whistling to +Waif, he walked away with the cat under his +arm. +</p> + +<p> +"Now what on earth did I do that for?" said +the squire, as he and Mr. Hayes turned down +the lane leading to the Hall gates. "I don't +know what my wife will say, but really, Hayes, +I don't dislike the boy; and how his face lighted +up at the thought of the skating! He's not a +bad fellow, after all." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Ward was quite right in surmising that +his wife would be vexed when she heard of the +invitation he had given; he tried hard to +mention it casually when he got home, but there +was an undisguisable anxiety in his voice as he +observed, +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! by-the-by, my dear, I met young Farrant +just now, and asked him to come over for +skating to-morrow." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Ward looked up with as much annoyance +as it was possible for a good, kind-hearted +woman to show. +</p> + +<p> +"You asked Donovan Farrant to come <i>here</i>?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not to the house, my dear, only to skate +on the lake. I really don't see how I could +avoid it; he is a first-rate skater, and this is +the only ice for miles round." +</p> + +<p> +"But only the other day, Edward, you said +you wouldn't have him about with the boys on +any account. I really think you might be more +careful. It will be beginning an intimacy, and +then, with such near neighbours, we shall find +it impossible to break it off. It is just the most +dangerous time, too, with Harry back from +Oxford, ready to make friends with anyone, and +Ned fresh from school." +</p> + +<p> +"My dear, surely they needn't become friends +because they skate on the same lake; besides, +I assure you young Farrant is not so bad as +people make out." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, Edward, he is not at all the kind of +companion I like for the boys, and I've heard +you say the same thing yourself. No one visits +him, he reads with that Mr. Alleyne at Greyshot, +a most unprincipled man, and you yourself +heard that he attended Raeburn's lectures." +</p> + +<p> +"I heard that he had been seen at one," said +the squire, rather testily. +</p> + +<p> +"And that is quite enough, I am sure, to +prove him an unfit companion for our children," +replied Mrs. Ward. "Only the other day, too, +I met him at the library and heard him asking +for books on Positivism; besides, no one invented +the account of his school life, I suppose." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, he's not likely to talk either of Raeburn +or of Positivism on the ice, I should think," +said Mr. Ward, with a smile. "Come, my dear, +it is not like you to be inhospitable, let the poor +fellow be here just this once." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course he must come now you have +asked him," said Mrs. Ward, with a sigh. "But +I am vexed about it. I do think one should be +careful with boys like Harry and Ned, and +with three girls only just out. Donovan +Farrant is so good-looking." +</p> + +<p> +She sighed again. The squire laughed heartily. +</p> + +<p> +"Now about the boys I don't feel so positive, +I own, but you may set your mind quite at rest +about the girls, for this dangerous young fellow +whom you dread so much is a professed +woman-hater. And you know, my dear, even the +author of evil is not so black as he's painted." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Ward sighed, but she said no more, only +secretly in her heart she hoped the frost would +not continue. +</p> + +<p> +Donovan was on the ice before anyone else +the next morning, and for some time had the +lake to himself. By-and-by two or three +carriages drove up with people from the +neighbourhood whom he knew slightly, and towards +the middle of the day the squire and his two +sons came down, but, beyond an ordinary +greeting, very little passed between them. The +squire was too good-natured a man not to feel +glad that, in spite of his wife's scruples, he had +invited the objectionable neighbour to come; +his intense enjoyment and his first-rate skating +were pleasant to watch, too. Mr. Ward really +felt sorry when, early in the afternoon, he saw +him taking off his skates." +</p> + +<p> +"You are leaving very soon," he said, kindly. +"I hope it is not on account of luncheon. +Won't you come up to the house and have +something?" +</p> + +<p> +The invitation slipped out naturally, the +squire found it hard not to be hospitable. But +luckily Donovan declined. He never left Dot +now for a whole day, and, giving the ordinary +excuse of "an engagement," he left the lake, +the squire of course inviting him to come again +the next day, and as long as the frost lasted. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Ward was much relieved when, on +coming down from the house with her daughters +and her niece, she found that the object of her +alarms was really gone. Everyone was singing +his praises—that was a little annoying, +certainly—but she learnt from her husband that +he had been far too much taken up with his +figure-cutting to trouble the boys with his +company, and with that she was satisfied, and +dismissed the subject from her thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +The next day, however, was not nearly so +propitious. To begin with, the girls would go +on the ice in the morning, and, though +Mrs. Ward hurried over her housekeeping and +followed them as quickly as possible, she found +that already the intimacy which she so much +dreaded had begun. The first sight that met +her eyes as she emerged from the shrubbery +was a little knot of people gathered together +on the bank. Her husband leaning on his stick +and talking jocosely, her younger daughter, and +her niece, Maggie White, just preparing for +their first start, and Donovan Farrant kneeling +in the snow, putting on her elder daughter's +skates. It was very provoking! Why had not +the girls been more careful? Why had she not +sent down the servant to help them? Why did +her husband stand there so carelessly, laughing +and talking? Her greeting to Donovan was +stiff and chill, but he was much too happy to +care, the day was gloriously fine, the frosty air +invigorating, Mr. Ward and his daughters had +been kind and friendly, Maggie White was +bewitching, for once in his life Donovan was +perfectly and healthily happy. He had been on +the ice for some time, his usually pale, dark face +was all aglow with the exercise, and his eyes +were sparkling with excitement, he certainly +looked most provokingly handsome, and perhaps +there was some cause for Mrs. Ward's anxiety, +</p> + +<p> +"How could you let him help the girls like +that?" she said, reproachfully, as the skaters +glided swiftly away. "I thought, Edward, you +told me he was a regular misanthrope." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I don't see that he has done much +harm, my dear,"' said the squire. "Common +courtesy would require him to help the ladies, +and I'm glad to see him lose that cold proud +look; he was more of a boy to-day." +</p> + +<p> +"I have warned the girls to be careful, but +there's no knowing what Maggie will do. She's +a dreadful little flirt!" and Mrs. Ward looked +anxiously across the lake to the place where +Donovan was giving her niece a lesson in the +figure eight. +</p> + +<p> +"Well," said the squire, consolingly, "Maggie's +a very nice girl, at any rate, and if she is, +as you say, a flirt, then you may be pretty sure +that she won't get her heart broken. Ah! here +come the Fortescues. We have quite a nice +number here to-day;" and the hospitable old +gentleman hastened forward to receive his +friends. +</p> + +<p> +"You are the only good skater here," said +Maggie, looking up admiringly at her +instructor. "Where did you learn? And how +can you manage to do all those wonderful +figures?" +</p> + +<p> +"They are only learnt by practice," said +Donovan. "I learnt at school, and at my old +home near London. You can do anything well, +if you give your whole will to it." +</p> + +<p> +"Can you?" said Maggie. "I can't. I expect +I've had as many weeks of skating as you +have had days. I come from Canada, you +know; but I shall never be able to do these +figures as you do." +</p> + +<p> +It was pleasant to be made much of and +flattered; an entirely new experience to +Donovan. He thought Maggie White the prettiest +and pleasantest girl he had ever seen. They +talked on naturally and easily, and it was +not surprising perhaps that Donovan was in no +hurry to part with his new companion, or that +he enjoyed skating rapidly up and down the +lake hand in hand with her more than cutting +figures by himself. Nor did it occur to Maggie +that she was guilty of any great enormity in +enjoying herself too. Once she said, in her +pretty way, +</p> + +<p> +"I am keeping you from doing what you +like, please go away and leave me. I am taking +up all your time, and spoiling your skating." +</p> + +<p> +And Donovan, though he was no "lady's +man," could answer very truthfully, +</p> + +<p> +"You are making me enjoy it perfectly." +</p> + +<p> +Then they began to talk again of Canada, +and she described all its delights to him. +</p> + +<p> +"Such fun we used to have in the skating +season. Sometimes we had regular balls on +the ice. It was so delightful! Oh! +Mr. Farrant"—as a sudden thought struck her—"could +we dance now? I'm sure you, who skate so +beautifully, would waltz to perfection." +</p> + +<p> +It was very innocently proposed. In a minute +Maggie had proclaimed the news to her cousins +as they passed. +</p> + +<p> +"We are going to dance. Why don't you?" And +then in a minute the deed was done, and +Mrs. Ward saw with dismay that Donovan +Farrant and her niece were actually dancing +together. +</p> + +<p> +Ice-waltzing was a novelty at Oakdene, and +everyone turned to watch the graceful +movements of the little Canadian girl and her +partner. Twice they made the circuit of the +lake, then, as they passed near the bank where +Mrs. Ward and one of her daughters were +standing, Donovan overheard the words: +</p> + +<p> +"I must stop this. With Donovan Farrant, +too. The last person in the world——" +</p> + +<p> +Maggie felt a quick movement in the arm +that was round her waist, and suddenly her +partner stopped, saying, in an odd changed +voice, +</p> + +<p> +"I think Mrs. Ward wishes to speak to you." +</p> + +<p> +"To me? All right, auntie, I'm coming. I +won't be a minute, Mr. Farrant." +</p> + +<p> +She skated swiftly to the bank, and listened, +with downcast eyes, to her aunt's words. +</p> + +<p> +"My dear, I don't quite approve of this. I'm +sorry to interrupt your pleasure, but you must +allow me to judge in this instance." Then, as +Donovan drew near, she turned to him, trying +to convey her meaning as civilly as she could. +"I have been telling my niece that I think +perhaps ice-dancing is a little out of place here. +You will understand, I am sure, Mr. Farrant." +</p> + +<p> +Yes, he understood perfectly. The face which +had so lately been boyishly happy and bright +was suddenly overcast, the eyes saddened, the +mouth re-assumed its bitter look, and, without a +single word, Donovan raised his hat, turned +away, and skated rapidly to the other end of +the lake. +</p> + +<p> +The brightness of the day was gone for him +after that. He went on skating, but with no +animation. Once young Ned Ward came up +and asked him to do the figure of double eight, +with which he had been astonishing the quiet +Oakdene skaters early in the morning, but be +complied so moodily that the boy soon left him +to seek more genial companions. Then Donovan +resolved to go home. He had been repulsed, +and, just as it was in his home life, so +too, in this instance, one repulse was enough. +He had neither enough love nor enough +humility to lay himself open again to the chance +of a fresh rebuff. After the first, he invariably +shrank into himself, becoming a little harder, +and colder, and more severe in manner. +</p> + +<p> +He skated to a deserted corner of the lake, +climbed the bank, and took off his skates; then +involuntarily he looked back on the animated +scene with a sore-hearted regret. The sun was +already getting low, though it was not three +o'clock; its level rays cast a red glow over the +wide white expanse, dotted here and there by +the dark gliding figures of the skaters. The +shore was fringed with tall trees, their black +stems serving as a relief to the general +whiteness, and their branches drooping gracefully +under the heavy yet feathery-looking rime. +There was an intense stillness in the sharp +frosty air, the voices of the merry crowd rang +out clearly; once Donovan felt sure he heard +Maggie White's girlish laugh, and it grated on +him. But in another minute all his morbid and +selfish thoughts were suddenly scattered to the +winds, for while he was still looking across the +lake he saw the ice in the centre bend, then, +with one vast booming crack, it parted asunder. +In an instant all was confusion. Donovan +sprang from the bank, and ran at full speed to +the scene of the disaster, all petty and personal +feelings driven out by the absorbing general +interest and alarm. Several people were in the +water, struggling, sinking, rising, vainly +clutching at the slippery edges of the broken ice. +Those who were safe bent forward helplessly +on their skates, trying to reach a hand to their +friends in distress, or calling loudly for help, +for ropes, for every sort of aid which was not +at hand. Two ladies were submerged; Donovan +coolly selected one of them while he drew +off his coat, then, without an instant's +hesitation, he plunged into the icy water. His +example was speedily followed by Harry Ward, +ropes were hastily brought on to the ice, the +rescue began to seem hopeful. Donovan was +an expert swimmer; a few strokes brought +him up to the sinking girl, who, dragged down +by the weight of her skates, was being drawn +in under the ice. From this he freed her without +much difficulty, but she was insensible, and +he found that to get her out of the water was +quite another matter; he tried several times, +but without success; each time the edges of +the ice broke away with the weight, and all he +could do was to keep her head above water, while +with increasing difficulty he struck out with his +free arm. The others had been rescued, or +were being helped, and at length a rope was +brought to his aid, a noose was thrown round +him and his burden, and, after a short fierce +struggle, he found himself safely on the ice. +</p> + +<p> +With a masculine dislike of being helped, he +sprang quickly to his feet, left his insensible +burden to the care of other hands, and looked +round for his coat. Perhaps those who had +seen him helped out with the rope did not +know he was a rescuer—perhaps, in the +excitement and hurry of the moment, he was +overlooked; at any rate, no one spoke to him, and +all at once his sore morose feeling returned +with double force. The people were beginning +to leave the ice quickly, the girl whom +Donovan had rescued began to revive and was +carried up to the house; he turned away in the +opposite direction, picked up his skates from +the bank where he had left them, and strode +fiercely away in the direction of the Manor. +He had done his best; one word of praise, or +even of recognition, would have sent him home +happy, but by some odd chance, even when he +deserved commendation, he failed to get it. +Probably he would have disliked being thanked +above all things, and yet the absence of gratitude +irritated him; it was unjust, no one ever +gave him his due, the world was full of +injustice. Over and over in his mind went the +weary, bitter, discontented cry; perhaps his +outward condition affected him a little, adding +fuel to the flame, for, although he considered +himself too philosophic to be troubled by mere +bodily inconveniences, the truth was that he +felt them more than most men, though he had +great powers of endurance. The icy cold bath +which he had just had, and the discomfort of +his cold, clinging, dripping clothes, at any rate +served to remind him continually of his grievance, +just as the wound he had received in the +school gauntleting had reminded him for days +of that injustice. He had scarcely passed +the Hall gates, when he was roused from his +dismal thoughts by an unexpected greeting. +</p> + +<p> +"Nice bright afternoon," said old Mr. Hayes, +shaking his hand. "Have you been on the ice? +Ah, yes, I see you have your skates." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; there's been an accident," said +Donovan, "so I am going home. The ice on the +large lake gave way." +</p> + +<p> +"Bless me!—no one hurt, I hope? Did anyone +go in? Why, now I notice you are all wet. +Dear, dear! what a terrible thing! How many +people fell in?" +</p> + +<p> +"I should think about half a dozen," replied +Donovan, swinging his skates and trying to +look unconcerned. +</p> + +<p> +"And all were rescued? that's a comfort. +And you were helped out quickly, I hope?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! yes," said Donovan, too proud to +explain, "I was hauled out." +</p> + +<p> +"Poor fellow! but what a shock it must have +been! You'll be taking a chill. You must +come in with me and have something hot, yes, +indeed you must, I'll take no denial. Here we +are, you see, at my door. Come in quickly and +have something, and then walk home briskly +and change. Now what shall it be, whisky-punch +or negus! I'm an abstemious man generally, +but this is the real time for such things, +wet to the skin and chilled to the bone, dear, +dear! Now come in, come in." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hayes had not been disabused of the old +ideas about alcohol, but, whether he was right +or wrong, Donovan's brow gradually relaxed +under the influence of the old man's kindness +and hospitality; he followed him obediently +into the little villa, which, though only inhabited +by the bachelor Mr. Hayes, was as scrupulously +neat as any old maid's dwelling. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hayes rang the bell in the little parlour, +all the time making much of his guest. Could +he not accommodate him with a change of +clothes? Should he send up to the Manor, &c. +</p> + +<p> +A grave staid housekeeper appeared to answer +the bell, and Mr. Hayes perhaps thought +it would be well to quicken her movements by +telling her the news of the village. +</p> + +<p> +"Some hot water and a lemon and some +sugar, please, Mrs. Brown. There has been an +accident on the ice in the Hall grounds, and +this gentleman has been in the water and is +very wet." +</p> + +<p> +Then the old man went to the cellaret, and, +the housekeeper having returned with the other +ingredients, he began with infinite pleasure and +fussiness to make the punch. He would not let +Donovan stay for long, but as soon as he had +done justice to the steaming beverage, started +him on his walk home, with paternal injunctions +not to stay about in his wet things, and to be +sure to come in again soon and cheer up a +solitary old bachelor. +</p> + +<p> +Donovan smiled to himself at the last speech. +Was it not rather the "solitary old bachelor;" +who had cheered him? The kindness and +hospitality drove away for the time his gloomy +thoughts, but they returned to him as he entered +his own home and threw down his skates. +</p> + +<p> +"Good-bye to you, at any rate," he murmured. +"I shall never go there again." +</p> + +<p> +Dot, with her quick all-observing eyes, saw +at once that something was wrong when +Donovan came into her room. Yesterday he had +returned in the highest spirits, that very +morning he had started with the look of bright +expectation on his face which the little sister +liked to see, but; now he was grave and sad, +with the expression which he always wore when +any allusion was made to his school disgrace—the +expression which Dot never cared to put +into words—a hard, bad look. +</p> + +<p> +"You are back earlier than you said," she +began. "Have you not had good skating?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—no," he moved away from her to the +fireplace, and kicked the coals in the grate with +his heel. +</p> + +<p> +"He never stirs the fire with his foot except +when something is wrong," soliloquized Dot; +then aloud, +</p> + +<p> +"Have you seen mamma, Dono?" +</p> + +<p> +"No." +</p> + +<p> +It could not be any quarrel, then, in that +quarter. What could have happened? He +was so disinclined to talk, however, that she +did not venture to ask any more questions, and +in a minute or two he walked across the room, +opened the piano, and began to practise. He +had chosen something of Sebastian Bach's, and +laboured away at it, at first mechanically and +doggedly enough, but by degrees with immense +satisfaction and relief to himself. A stately, +measured, dignified strain it was, with one little +fidgety, fugue-like passage; he played five bars +of it over and over till the disappointment, and +anger, and moodiness gradually died out of his +heart, and poor Dot began to beg for mercy. +</p> + +<p> +"You must have played it a thousand times," +she said, laughing, and Donovan laughed too, +left the piano, and came to sit beside her. +</p> + +<p> +"Bach is as good as a tonic," he said, +cheerfully. "That old fellow always sets me +right," +</p> + +<p> +She saw now that she might talk to him, and +began to question him about his day. He +always told her his troubles, but this afternoon +he tried to make light of them. +</p> + +<p> +"We had a glorious time in the morning, +the ice was perfect. About the middle of the +time the Miss Wards came down, and their +cousin, Miss White, a very pretty girl from +Canada. She skated nicely, was much more up +to things than anyone else, and for a little +while we danced together. Mrs. Ward did not +approve of that, though. I overheard her say +something not too complimentary, and then she +managed somehow to stop it, at which, you +know, Dot, I was just a little cross. But, just +as I was coming away, guess what happened." +</p> + +<p> +"An accident! Oh! was it an accident?" +cried Dot, excitedly. "And you were brave +and helped the others, and Mrs. Ward was +obliged to like you very much?" +</p> + +<p> +He laughed a little, but rather sadly. +</p> + +<p> +"No, Dot. You are running on too fast. I +was born under an unlucky star, and shall +never be able to win honour or respect." +</p> + +<p> +He gave her a detailed account of the whole +affair, and was rewarded by her delighted pride +in his attempted rescue. +</p> + +<p> +"Dono dear, you ought to have a medal for +it, a medal, you know, from the Society for +Promoting—what is it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Cruelty to animals," suggested Donovan, +wickedly. +</p> + +<p> +"No, no, you bad boy. Something about +being 'humane' and they give medals to people +who save people's lives. Just fancy, Dono, you +could wear it on your watch-chain. It would +be so nice." +</p> + +<p> +"Too nice for the like of me," he said, lightly, +but with a stifled sigh. "They keep things +of that sort for the good boys." +</p> + +<p> +"And no one even thanked you? That was +a shame," said the little sister, indignantly. +"Never mind, Dono, you are my hero, my very +own, and you're the dearest old boy in the +world." +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps it was as well that the frost only +lasted three days longer. The skaters +grumbled sadly, but two people at Oakdene were +considerably relieved. The one was Mrs. Ward, +who rejoiced that "that dangerous young man" +could not again imperil her children, the other +was the "dangerous young man" himself. But +if Donovan did not easily forget injustice, +neither did he forget even the most trifling piece +of kindness. After his next day's shooting, he +left a brace of pheasants at old Mr. Hayes' +door, and this made an opening for a further +acquaintance. Mr. Hayes wrote to ask him +to dinner, and, as such invitations were rare, +Donovan was pleased enough to go. It was a +<i>tête-à-tête</i> dinner. Old Mr. Hayes was past +sixty, and Donovan not yet nineteen, but, in +spite of this disparity in age, the evening was +a very pleasant one, and did him good. It was +a fresh interest, an insight into a new home, +and also into a life whose simplicity, kindliness, +and content could not fail to strike the +most casual observer. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hayes lived very frugally as a rule. The +game was an unwonted luxury, and his evident +appreciation of it was very pleasant to +Donovan. He himself had a hearty but philosophic +appetite, to which nothing came amiss, dainty +discrimination was not at all in his line, but he +enjoyed watching old Mr. Hayes discuss his +present, glad that what had been pleasure to +him in the shooting should be real pleasure to +some one else in the eating. +</p> + +<p> +"You are like Squire Thornhill in 'The Vicar +of Wakefield,'" said Mr. Hayes, when the +house-keeper had removed the game, "who brought +his own venison with him when he dined at +the vicarage. What! You don't know the +book? Is it possible? Well, I suppose it's +old and behind the times now; but, my word! how +I have laughed over it, and cried, too, for +the matter of that. 'Moses at the Fair,' and +then 'Olivia!' Ah! he was a grand fellow, old +Goldsmith. There are no such writers now-a-days." +</p> + +<p> +Then by-and-by some question of Donovan's +drew out an account of Mr. Hayes' former life, +the rough discipline of the old boarding-schools, +the early drudgery in a merchant's office, his +gradual advance till he had become a partner +in the firm, the losses they had had in the time +of the Crimean War, finally his ill-health, and +his retirement, with a modest income, to the +little country villa. A life of toil, and care, +and hardship, with what seemed a very slight +reward to Donovan, but which the old man +himself evidently considered quite sufficient. +</p> + +<p> +"And now, you see," he concluded, "when +my health is uncertain, and I can't do what I +once could, why, here I have a cosy little berth +to myself, with no cares or anxieties. It was +always my castle in the air, this, a little house +in a country village, with a bit of garden, and a +place to keep fowls in. The thought of this +helped me through years of care and labour. +Always remember to have your castle in the +air. That's my advice to you." +</p> + +<p> +"What is the use, sir, if it never comes to +anything? Except at cards, the luck is against +me always. And is there not a proverb, +'Blessed is he that expecteth nothing'?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, well," said Mr. Hayes, "perhaps you're +the wiser and more rational. I don't know +exactly about <i>expecting</i>—you must expect very +patiently, at any rate. But a 'castle' is a great +blessing; I should miss mine sadly." +</p> + +<p> +"You have a new one, then?" said Donovan, +amused. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes; since I came here, I have fixed +upon a visit to Switzerland as my 'castle.' I've +been saving up for it this long time, and +I've mapped out my route, and chosen what +hotels to go to, and calculated just what it will +cost; and then, you know, when I meet with +travellers, I get hints from them, and put them +down in my note-book. Now this is what I +intend to do, starting, you know, from +Newhaven to Dieppe," &c., &c. +</p> + +<p> +The whole tour was detailed with enthusiastic +delight, and Donovan listened, unable to help +admiring the child-like, contented old man. +</p> + +<p> +"And when do you think your 'castle' will +come off, sir?" he asked, when the whole plan +had been related. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! that I can't tell at all," said Mr. Hayes, +rubbing his hands. "I have not saved enough +yet; but won't it be a <i>grand</i> tour! Come, own +that it's a 'castle' worth having." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap08"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER VIII. +<br><br> +"TIED TO HIS MOTHER'S APRON-STRINGS." +</h2> + +<p class="intro"> +Now a boy is, of all wild beasts, the most difficult to +manage.—PLATO. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"You see, dear Mrs. Tremain, one must be +so careful with boys; there are so many +temptations into which they are likely to fall, +and, humanly speaking, there is no such careful +and saving influence as a mother's." +</p> + +<p> +The speaker, Mrs. Causton, was a middle-aged +lady, with no-coloured hair brought low +on each side of her brow, and a rather care-worn +face, which expressed kindly intentions, +but yet at the same time seemed a little formal. +An old friend of Dr. Tremain's, and the wife of +a naval officer, she had lately settled down at +Porthkerran in order to be with her son +Stephen, a boy of nineteen, who was to spend a +year in Dr. Tremain's surgery before going up +to London to "walk the hospitals." Mrs. Causton +was such a near neighbour that she was an +almost daily visitor at the doctor's house, and +her easy informal comings and goings never +interfered with anything that was going on. +The two ladies were sitting by the open +window of the breakfast-room one warm summer +morning, when Mrs. Causton made the remark +about a "mother's influence;" Mrs. Tremain, +with the daintiest and most exquisitely neat +workbox before her, was busy with some folds +of blue cambric, out of which her skilful, and +therefore graceful-looking hands, were devising +one of little Nesta's frocks; and Gladys, at the +far end of the room, was giving Jackie a +reading-lesson. +</p> + +<p> +"And yet," began Mrs. Tremain, in answer, +"I can't help thinking that a certain amount +of independence is almost necessary; a boy +must learn sooner or later to stand alone." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, yes, sooner or later, of course. Stephen +must be alone in London next year. I wish it +could be otherwise; but you know I never could +be in London, unfortunately; the air is like +poison to me. He must be alone then, but I +can't help dreading it very much; he has +scarcely ever been away from me, not for more +than a few days at a time in his whole life. I +could never make up my mind to send him to +school; there are so many temptations in school +life; I always dreaded it for Stephen." +</p> + +<p> +"One wants a great deal of faith with +children," said Mrs. Tremain; and as she spoke, +though the words were by no means lightly +meant, there was a little smile of amusement +about her lips, for she knew she was poaching +on Mrs. Causton's manor. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah! dear Mrs. Tremain, no one knows that +better than I do; it is faith from the beginning +to the end, how else could one bear the +anxieties, the—— Well, Jackie dear," as the sturdy +little four-year-old boy, released from his +lessons, sprang towards her with the affectionate +rough demonstration of arms and legs common +to most children of his age. "It was only last +Sunday that I was trying to tell dear little +Jackie something of the nature of faith; one +cannot too early impress it on a child. Do +you remember, darling, what I said in Sunday-school?" +</p> + +<p> +"This is Fliday," said the matter-of-fact Jackie. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, but can't you remember such a few +days ago as that? What did I say faith was?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! I lemember," said Jackie, looking up +brightly. "An apple-pie in a boat." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Tremain and Gladys could not help +laughing, Mrs. Causton looked perplexed for a +minute, but Jackie ran off contentedly to his +play, and never waited for the explanation. +</p> + +<p> +"Poor little man, I see how it was. I just +gave them an illustration, you know, told them +that if they went down to the beach with me +one day, and I was to say, 'Look at that boat +in the distance, it has an apple-pie in it,' and +they were to believe there was an apple-pie in +it, that would be faith. It is always well to +choose attractive illustrations for children, but +dear little Jackie of course was rather confused +just now." +</p> + +<p> +"Aunt Margaret," said Gladys, for, though +Mrs. Causton was no real relation, the children +had known her all their lives, and had christened +her "auntie," in American fashion. "Aunt +Margaret, what would you have done if Stephen +had had to go to sea like Dick?" +</p> + +<p> +"My dear, I could never have allowed it," +said Mrs. Causton, quickly. "Of course, +naturally enough, at one time Stephen did wish to +go with his father, but it could never have been +allowed. From the very first I determined that +he should be a clergyman or a doctor, the only +thoroughly good and Christian professions, to +my mind." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! but, auntie, think of the number of +good men there are in other professions," said +Gladys, with girlish vehemence, provoked by +the narrowness of the remark. +</p> + +<p> +"I like a consistent calling," said Mrs. Causton, +"and you know, Gladys, humanly speaking, +it is often difficult to lead a consistent life in a +more secular profession." +</p> + +<p> +Gladys was silenced but not satisfied. When +Mrs. Causton had gone she returned to the +subject. +</p> + +<p> +"Mother, Aunt Margaret seems to think that +very few people are Christians. She talks as if +all the world, except just a few people like +herself, were wicked." +</p> + +<p> +"Your aunt has very strong opinions. I do +not agree with her always," said Mrs. Tremain. +"Nor need you, Gladys." +</p> + +<p> +"But, mother, it's so tiresome to have to hear +people say things like that, it's so—so narrow! +What would she do if there were only two +professions in the world, if every man was a +clergyman or a doctor? And if the other things +must be done and seen to, why, it must be right +for some one to do them." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you know," said Mrs. Tremain, smiling, +"that you are a very hot little arguer, Gladys? +I fancy, like most women, that you have just a +little personal feeling mixed with your views. +Were you not thinking of Dick when the other +professions were being decried?" +</p> + +<p> +"You always know everything," said Gladys, +resting her arm on Mrs. Tremain's knee, and +shading her brow with her hand. "Yes, I +was thinking of Dick. I believe he's the best +middy in all the navy. You know, mother, +what Captain Smith said about his influence on +board. I'm sure his life is as consistent as +Stephen's will ever be." +</p> + +<p> +"We are getting rather little and personal," +said Mrs. Tremain. "Don't let us take to +crying up our own belongings, and comparing them +with other people's. Of course you are proud +of Dick, dear, and so am I, but he is not a +paragon of virtue." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh I no, I can't bear paragons," said Gladys, +laughing, "they are always prigs. Dick is a +regular boy still, that's why he's so nice. I +wonder whether Aunt Margaret thinks it very +risky for him to be left to himself so much. +I believe Stephen wants to be let alone a little, +he always looks so bored when auntie begins to +talk at him. You know, mother, she really +does talk rather much, she always tries to drag +in religion, and sometimes it does come in so +oddly. And then she is always saying 'humanly +speaking.' I can't bear those little phrases. +I think auntie must be descended from some of +the old Puritans. I'm sure she'd have liked +those funny, made-up names. She chose +Stephen's name because it was in the Bible, +and she thinks Gladys sounds so like a heathen. +She wonders you and papa chose it for me." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Tremain laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, Gladys dear, live up to the best +meaning of your name, and I shall be quite +satisfied. Now let us have our reading +together. The weather looks promising for our +picnic this afternoon, does it not?" +</p> + +<p> +Later in the day the whole family, including +Stephen and Mrs. Causton, were to meet for an +out-of-doors tea-drinking. It was a half-holiday, +and the two younger boys, intervening +between Dick and little Jackie, were to come +over from their school at Plymouth. The doctor +had promised to get his rounds done quickly, +and Stephen was released from his duties for +an hour or two. To children, and to child-like +minds, it is seldom that a great expedition or +an expensive picnic gives the pleasure which a +more simple and homely one does. It is not +the great, formal, country excursion, with its +grand toilettes and champagne lunch which +dwells in the memory, and is looked back upon +with pleasure, it is rather the simple "day in +the country," when there were no liveried +servants to carry the provisions, when our own +arms ached with the burden, when, with a +sense of delicious novelty, we ourselves spread +the cloth on the turf, or boiled the kettle over a +gipsy-like fire of sticks, or roamed in delightful +freedom in what seemed a paradise of rest +and greenness, away from the "haunts of men." +</p> + +<p> +About two miles west of Porthkerran the +cliffs were broken into a sort of cleft or narrow +valley, and here a beautiful wood had sprung +up, which in spring was carpeted with primroses +and anemones, and where in summer forget-me-nots +were to be found by the side of the +little streams which trickled through the wood +to the sea. It was in this place that the +Tremains were to spend their afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +"It was very good of you to spare Stephen," +said Mrs. Causton to the doctor, as he helped +her out of the little pony-carriage, in which the +elder ladies and the two younger children had +come. "I sometimes fancy that he does not +get out enough. I hope he deserves his holiday?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, a little country air will freshen him +up," said the doctor, without replying directly +to the question. +</p> + +<p> +The mother's instinct was quick to note this. +</p> + +<p> +"I hope you are really satisfied with Stephen?" +she said, anxiously. "I hope he isn't +idle?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh!" said the doctor, re-assuringly, "I don't +think he's more idle than many boys of his age. +I daresay he told you that I was down upon +him rather sharply yesterday. He forgot an +important message, and I was obliged to lecture +him a little." +</p> + +<p> +"He never told me," said Mrs. Causton, with +some vexation in her tone. "I would always +so much rather know things of that kind. I +cannot get him to be open with me." +</p> + +<p> +"You can hardly expect that he will tell you +of every trifling scrape he gets into," said +Dr. Tremain. "That was all very well while he was +in petticoats, and the more spontaneous telling +there is still the better, but perhaps one can +hardly expect it in such a matter as that." +</p> + +<p> +"I like <i>perfect</i> confidence between a mother +and son," said Mrs. Causton. "Who should +help him and advise him, if I do not?" +</p> + +<p> +"Quite so. It is everything to have strong +sympathy and understanding, but confidence +cannot be forced, or it is utterly worthless, and +a boy of nineteen is generally rather a tough +customer to deal with." +</p> + +<p> +"You think so?" questioned Mrs. Causton. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I think undoubtedly that from eighteen +to one and twenty is one of the most difficult +periods of life. Boys, and in many instances +girls, too, begin then to have a good deal of +liberty. The old discipline is cast off, they +have to rule their own actions to a great extent, +they have to face the problems of life, and +forming their own opinion strongly on every +point, whether it is beyond their comprehension +or not, they battle along not unfrequently a +misery to themselves and to their friends, till, +after dearly-bought experience, they at last +settle down, more or less contentedly, with +some of their conceit knocked out of them." +</p> + +<p> +"Stephen is not conceited," broke in Mrs. Causton. +"I don't think anyone could call him +conceited; and as to his opinions, why he holds +everything that I do. He has never been any +trouble to me in that way, and in these days, +when young men so often hold such dreadfully +unorthodox views, that is saying a great deal." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't think Stephen is in any danger of +being unorthodox," said the doctor, rather +drily. Then after a little pause he added, "I +meant that I don't think he ever thinks enough +to have any difficulties. But in one way, +Mrs. Causton, I do think he might be in danger, he +is far too easily led." +</p> + +<p> +"He is naturally gentle and pliable," said +Mrs. Causton. She would not say, "weak." +</p> + +<p> +"And there is, I think, his danger," said the +doctor. "Old John Bunyan showed a wonderful +knowledge of life when he made Pliable the +one to go half-way into the Slough of Despond, +and never win through it. I don't want to +make you anxious about Stephen, but of course, +since the lad's been with me, he's been in my +mind a good deal, and I can't help thinking +that he wants more of a backbone; he has not +enough steadiness; he is too loose in his +management of himself. I do not think he knows +how to steer his own course." +</p> + +<p> +"But I am still with him; he cannot go +wrong now very well," said Mrs. Causton. +</p> + +<p> +"But you cannot always be with him," replied +the doctor. "Depend upon it, the best +thing you can do is to teach him <i>self</i>-management. +There is an old saying, which of course +you know, about the child who is 'tied to his +mother's apron-strings;' perhaps it seems cruel +of me to quote such a rough simile to you, but, +you see, there is danger in it—it makes a boy +weak and helpless, instead of bracing him for +his part in life, as I know you and all good +mothers would wish to do." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, what shall I tell him?—what is his +chief fault in his work?" said Mrs. Causton, +with the rather fretted manner of one taking +uncongenial advice. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't bother him—let him alone a little," +said the doctor, cheerfully. "Some day I mean +to give him a good blowing up; he must learn +to keep the surgery more tidy." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Causton was a little annoyed at this +sudden descent to what seemed to her such a +trifling and mundane matter, but Dr. Tremain's +next sentence cleared her brow once more. +</p> + +<p> +"You must not mind my talking so plainly +to you about the boy; you see, I've been his +father's friend ever since we were lads together, +and so I can't help taking a special interest in +Stephen. But don't let us spoil our afternoon's +pleasuring with educational bothers. Where +will you and the mother sit? Here is a nice +tree ready felled—what do you say to that? +I shall leave you to gossip while I go mothing." +</p> + +<p> +So the doctor, taking his butterfly-net, +walked off into the wood, tapping the tree-trunks +every now and then in search of spoil, +and closely followed by Jackie, who promised +to be as keen a naturalist as his father. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Tremain took out her knitting, and, +while talking with her companion, kept an eye +on little Nesta, who was now more than a year +old, and just beginning to run alone. From +their place the two ladies could catch glimpses +of the deep blue of the Porthkerran Bay through +the overhanging trees, while occasionally merry +voices in the distance told of the presence of +the children. The quiet country "stillness" +was very refreshing, but Mrs. Causton could +not quite free herself from the uncomfortable +impression which the doctor's words had left +on her mind; had she been able to see into her +son's heart at that moment, her anxiety would +have been still greater. +</p> + +<p> +"How jolly this is!" said Stephen, as, leaving +the dusty highway, they entered the cool green +shade of the wood. "I used to think it must +be so dull down here at Porthkerran; it seemed +like the ends of the earth when we were living +in Sussex." +</p> + +<p> +"Cornwall is the best place in the world," +said Gladys, with pride. "I can't think how +people can live in places where they have to +wear gloves always, and walk about in their +best clothes." +</p> + +<p> +"I thought girls always liked dress," said +Stephen. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! yes, of course, in a way; it is nice to +have pretty things, but not to be always +bothered with them," said Gladys, stooping +down to gather some forget-me-nots. +</p> + +<p> +The younger boys had wandered on in front. +Stephen was not sorry to be left behind, for he +was rapidly gliding into love with Gladys. He +gave to her now the confidence which his +mother had so much wished for. +</p> + +<p> +"Sometimes I think, Gladys, that I shall be +obliged to go away from here," he +began—"before my year is over, I mean." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, will you?" said Gladys. +</p> + +<p> +"Would you—would you be sorry if I went?" +questioned Stephen, anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course," said Gladys, with almost more +frankness than he desired—"dreadfully sorry. +We should all miss you; and besides, Aunt +Margaret has taken the house now." +</p> + +<p> +It was too general and prosaic a view to +please Stephen; however, he continued— +</p> + +<p> +"I fancy your father is not pleased with me; +he was awfully vexed yesterday." +</p> + +<p> +"Was he? Why was that?" asked Gladys, +looking up with innocent sympathy. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, they sent up word from the inn that +Mary Pengelly was much worse, and I forgot +to tell him." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Stephen! and did it matter much?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know. I don't think it could have +made much difference. She died this morning." +</p> + +<p> +There was a little silence after this, then +Gladys said, +</p> + +<p> +"I've often noticed that papa is more vexed +by carelessness than by great big faults, and you +see, Stephen, this might have been so dreadful, +if he could have saved her by going earlier." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! I don't think he could. She's been +supposed to be dying for a week. Don't look +so awfully grave, Gladys, I shall be very careful, +of course, after this. I mean to turn over +a new leaf. You don't know how I should hate +to leave this place. You don't know how I care +for—for you all." +</p> + +<p> +The colour had risen to the roots of his hair, +and Gladys for the first time caught his meaning. +Half pleased, half frightened, her strongest +impulse was to run away, to put a stop somehow +to the <i>tête-à-tête</i>; for the first time she felt +that there was a difference between walking +alone with Dick and walking alone with +Stephen, and, with a sudden shyness which she +had never known before, she looked about for +some way of escape. +</p> + +<p> +A brilliant butterfly fluttered past her, and, +with relief in her voice, she said, quickly, +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! I do believe there is that rare 'blue' +which Jackie wanted. I must catch him." +</p> + +<p> +And, while Stephen wished all the rare +"blues" at the other side of the world, Gladys +sprang across the little brook, running in swift +pursuit of her victim. Stephen sauntered on +rather discontentedly, but taking care not to +lose sight of the brown holland and blue ribbons, +which flashed rapidly hither and thither in the +chase, threading the woody labyrinth. When +at last he came up with her, the butterfly was +secured, and the rest of the party were in sight. +</p> + +<p> +Then came the merry preparations for tea; +the boys gathered sticks and nursed the flickering +blaze, Gladys began to spread bread and +honey, like the queen in the nursery rhyme, and +Dr. Tremain, returning with his prey in a dozen +little boxes, devoted himself to making jokes +for Mrs. Causton's benefit, and good-naturedly +entered into all the children's arrangements, +though, like most middle-aged men, he hated +the discomforts of an out-door meal. The most +noteworthy incident in the day to Stephen was +that afterwards, as they were still resting in +the shade, from time to time singing rounds and +catches, Gladys began to make her forget-me-nots +into tiny nosegays. There was one for +everybody, but the greater number of them +were destined to "bloom their hour and fade," +only one was carefully preserved among +Stephen's untidy haunts. There was this much of +good in him, that he was capable of recognizing +Gladys' beauty and goodness, but unfortunately +she did not greatly influence him. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap09"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER IX. +<br><br> +DOT VERSUS THE WORLD. +</h2> + +<p class="intro"> + She was sent forth<br> + To bring that light which never wintry blast<br> + Blows out, nor rain nor snow extinguishes—<br> + The light that shines from loving eyes upon<br> + Eyes that love back, till they can see no more.<br> + LANDON.<br> +</p> + +<p class="intro"> + A little child shall lead them.<br> + <i>Book of the Prophet Isaiah.</i><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +It is an old saying, and perhaps a truism, that +self-sacrifice always brings its reward; not +exactly the substantial reward promised in a +certain moral song which is put into the lips of +children, in which a charitable loaf-giver is +represented as receiving "As much and ten times +more," but a reward in some form perhaps +hardly understood now, but no less real because +we cannot grasp or fathom it. In one sense +great gain is consistent with loss, perhaps +follows upon it almost as constantly as joy follows +upon pain. +</p> + +<p> +It was not a tangible reward which Donovan's +self-sacrifice met with. Our highest and +best gifts are never tangible, but it was a +reward which was one of the best and most +lasting influences of his life. When he resolved +to devote himself entirely to Dot, instinctively +his thoughts grew less morbid and selfish. His +life, which seemed so purposeless and useless, +twined itself round her life, and found the +object it needed. His creed indeed remained +unaltered; the angry sense of injustice still +lurked in his heart, but everything was now +subservient to the one ruling interest, and, +through all the bad influences which were +besetting him continually during the two years +which elapsed after his father's death, the +unconscious loving influence of the little child +kept its hold upon him. +</p> + +<p> +His was a nature formed either for great good +or for great evil. Whatever he did he did +thoroughly; whether it was the reading of a +fairy-tale to Dot, or the mastery of some +difficult passage of music, or his nightly +card-playing at the Greyshot club, he bent his whole +will to the work, intent upon making whatever +he was engaged upon a masterpiece of its kind. +In spite, then, of all the evil at work within +him and without, Donovan had really improved. +At twenty, he was far more manly, more tender +and considerate, and, though his self-reliance +was still unshaken, he was no longer the +self-absorbed, gloomy, taciturn fellow he had been. +To make himself companionable to Dot, he had +been forced to rouse himself; abstract speculations, +long, dismal reveries were incompatible +with the line of life which he had marked out +for himself. What might have done very well +among the Alps must be entirely avoided in the +little invalid's room, and he exerted himself +with such firmness of purpose that in spite of +his natural tendency to melancholy, and the +bitter spirit which his early education had +produced, he became bright and cheerful, +sometimes even merry. This was, of course, when +he was with her; at other times he was often +sadly moody, and the coldness with his mother +increased rather than diminished; indeed, he +saw very little of her, for, when Dot did not +need him, he could always find amusement at +Greyshot, though his passion for cards did not +lead him among the very best companions. +</p> + +<p> +And all the time Mrs. Farrant allowed +herself to drift down the stream of life placidly. +The world seemed to her a little dull, but no +doubt other people found it so. She had many +comforts; she would not complain. In what +she considered peaceful and virtuous content, +she stroked Fido, received visitors, drove out +in her victoria, and read light literature. Twice +a day she visited Dot's room; a sort of duty +call, which both mother and child took as a +matter of course, but did not in the least care +for; and occasionally Donovan occupied her +thoughts for a few minutes. She would feel a +sort of pride and pleasure as she noticed what +a fine-looking fellow he was, or would be vexed +and annoyed that the neighbours shunned him, +but it never occurred to her that she was at all +responsible for him, that it was through her +neglect and unmotherliness that he was driven +away from home to spend his evenings at a +disreputable club. +</p> + +<p> +In the second spring after Colonel Farrant's +death, it was arranged that the Oakdene family +should go up to town for the season. Mrs. Farrant +had left off her weeds. Ellis and Adela +urged them to come up for at least a few +weeks, and as the house in Connaught Square, +which had been let for the last two years, was +now at liberty, there seemed no reason against +it. Donovan was glad enough to go. He had +begun to crave for a change of scene, and, +though he was too unsociable and silent to care +for the sort of gaieties which his mother enjoyed, +London offered many other attractions to him. +</p> + +<p> +Dot's room was in the front of the house, +that she might have the benefit of the square +garden, and, when she had recovered from the +fatigue of the journey, she was able thoroughly +to enjoy the change. Donovan had not noticed +how very thin and weak she had grown lately. +He was never away from her, and so did not +see the change, as a fresh-comer would have +done. It was a chance word of Adela Farrant's +which first drew his attention to the fact. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, my poor little Dot," she exclaimed, +coming into the room a few days after their +arrival, "how thin and white you have grown; +you're just like a little shadow. What have +you been doing to her, Donovan?" +</p> + +<p> +The light tones and the smiling face of the +speaker were a strange contrast to the startled +abrupt interrogative which escaped Donovan, +and the look of pain which came over his face. +</p> + +<p> +"You think her changed?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, very much; I believe, dear, they've kept +you mewed up in the country a great deal too +long. You wanted a little change and +amusement. You wanted me to look after you, now +didn't you?" +</p> + +<p> +Conscious that she had made rather an +unfortunate remark, Adela talked on good-naturedly +to the little girl, and once or twice +tried to draw Donovan into the conversation; +he did not seem to hear her, but stood leaning +against the wall at the foot of Dot's couch, +looking at her with a sad, anxious, pained +scrutiny. Adela's words had sent a cold chill +to his heart. Was it true? Was Dot really +changed? Was she more fragile and delicate-looking +than usual? He tried to look at her +as if he were a stranger, tried to find the bare, +undisguised truth. +</p> + +<p> +Dot was now twelve years old, though her +little helpless form was so tiny that she looked +more like a child of eight; he seemed never to +have really looked at her before, and, though he +knew every line of her face by heart, its beauty +had never before struck him. She had always +been to him just Dot herself, it had never entered +his head to think whether she was pretty or +not. She wore a loose white dress, and over her +feet was spread a many-coloured Indian shawl, +the same shawl which he remembered seeing in +the ayah's arms on that day of wretchedness +and disappointment in his childhood. The +window was open and the summer wind played +with her soft brown hair as it lay on the pillow; +he noticed a strange waxen look about the +little childish face, and the beauty of the +rounded serene forehead, with its too apparent +network of blue veins, the soft grey-brown eyes, +the tender little smiling mouth, struck him as +it had never struck him before. It could never +be, oh! surely it could never be, that she would +be taken from him! Fate had been so cruel +to him, it would surely leave him the one thing +he cared for still! The mere thought caused +him such agony that he could hardly contain +himself; it was only from his habitual self-control, +and from his love to Dot, that he could +force a smile to his lips as she looked up at him +appealingly. +</p> + +<p> +"Dono, do you hear what we are saying? +We are saying you must go out more while you +are here. Cousin Adela says you are very +unsociable." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, you are a regular bear," said Adela. +"I'm quite ashamed of you, sir, you've no +excuse whatever. With your advantages you +might turn the heads of half the girls in town." +</p> + +<p> +"A desirable employment," said Donovan, +veiling far deeper feelings with a sarcastic +smile. +</p> + +<p> +"There, I told you he was a bear! See how +he speaks to me!" said Adela, with mock anger. +</p> + +<p> +"I beg your pardon," he said, laughing. +"But if that is the 'whole duty of man,' it's +beyond me; I can't turn neat compliments to +pretty women, it's not in me. Some fellows +are born to it, it comes as naturally to them as +card-playing comes to me. One can't go against +mature." +</p> + +<p> +"You ought to do your duty," said Adela, +with playful severity. +</p> + +<p> +"And if I were to ask, like Froude's cat, +'What <i>is</i> my duty?' you would answer, I suppose, +like the sagacious animals in the parable, +'Get your own dinner,' and add, perhaps, 'at +some grand house belonging to one of the +"upper ten."' That is my duty, I suppose." +</p> + +<p> +"He is talking riddles to me, Dot," said Adela. +smiling. "What cat does he mean?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! the cat in 'Short Studies on Great +Subjects,'" said Dot, readily. "Such a jolly +story it is! The cat wanted to know what was +the good of life, and everyone gave her such +funny answers. The owl said 'Meditate, oh! cat,' +and so she tried to think which could have +come first, the fowl or the egg. Dono laughed +over that story more than I ever saw him laugh +before." +</p> + +<p> +"But, to return to the charge," said Adela, +"why were you not at Lady Temple's last +night?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because I've forsworn such vanities," said +Donovan, contentedly. "The night before I +dutifully attended my mother to three fashionable +crowds—'perpendiculars' is the best name +for them, for there is generally barely room for +standing—and, as we elbowed our way through +the third set of rooms, I made up my mind that +society wasn't in my line." +</p> + +<p> +"People never know when they're well off," +said Adela. "Many men would be thankful +enough to be in your shoes, and to be introduced +to such a good circle, and, instead of +making the most of your advantages, you think +of nothing but those wicked cards." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course it is very wicked indeed to think +of such things as whist, or loo, or euchre; +instead of that my cousin would wish me to +spend my evenings in the virtuous employment +of talking nonsense in aristocratic drawing-rooms, +or flirting in ball-rooms," said Donovan, +with a satirical smile. +</p> + +<p> +"Your cousin would wish you to be a great +deal more polite," said Adela, laughing, "and +she does not like to be snapped up in that way, +for all the world as if you were a machine for +cutting people's words up—a chaff-cutter!" +</p> + +<p> +"At any rate, I was not chaffing," said Donovan, +relapsing into good humour. +</p> + +<p> +"Did you ever know anything like him?" +said Adela, with another laugh. "He can +make as many bad puns as ordinary men when +he tries, but let him be in society, and he's a +bear—a gloomy Spanish don—more morose and +formal and stupid than anyone I have met in +my whole life." +</p> + +<p> +"You mustn't scold him," said Dot, not quite +understanding the banter, and hurt that anyone +should think Donovan otherwise than perfect; +"you don't know a bit how good he is if you +say that. When I was so ill six months ago, +he was with me almost always, and often he +used to sit up all night with me." +</p> + +<p> +"I didn't know you had been ill—worse, at +least," said Adela. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; it was in the autumn, when Cousin +Ellis had come down for the shooting, and +Dono missed ever so many days because he +wouldn't leave me. Dono is the best nurse in +the world; his hands are so clever, they never +hurt like Doery's, and, do you know, once our +old doctor wondered how it was he was so +quick and clever and steady-handed, and Dono +told him it was because he played billiards so +much." +</p> + +<p> +"Some advantages, you see, Cousin Adela, +in being a born gamester," said Donovan, with +rather a sad smile, as he looked down at Dot's +little weak fingers wreathing themselves in and +out of his. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I'm glad you can turn into a sick-nurse," +said Adela. "You have brought out a +new side of his character, Dot, and deserve a +vote of thanks." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! and Waif brought it out too," said Dot, +eagerly. "Waif had the distemper dreadfully +last year—he nearly died. The vetchi—what +do you call the animal-doctor?—said that he +would have died if Dono hadn't taken such care +of him; he sat up with him two nights, and +that saved his life. Isn't Waif a dear dog, +cousin?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I don't think he's a beauty," said +Adela, looking down at the fox-terrier, who was +licking his master's hand. +</p> + +<p> +"He can do lots of tricks, though," said Dot; +"he's wonderfully clever, and he loves Dono +so!" +</p> + +<p> +"Have you seen Ellis's new dog?" asked +Adela, who rather wanted to bring the +conversation round to her brother. "He has a new +retriever. I suppose you have seen Ellis +himself, have you not?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, yes, seeing that he's been in here +every day," said Donovan, not in his pleasantest +tone. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! but you're such an unsociable fellow," +said Adela. "One might be in the house for +hours and not see you. Ellis said something +about meeting me here at five o'clock. I think +I had better go downstairs and see if he has +come." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! stay with Dot a little longer," said +Donovan. "I daresay he has not come yet; +I'll go and see." +</p> + +<p> +Adela consented to stay on, and Donovan, +with Waif at his heels, went downstairs. +Opening the drawing-room door unconcernedly, and +hastily glancing round to see if his cousin were +there, he was suddenly confronted by a sight +so unexpected, so disagreeably startling, that +for a moment he stood rooted to the spot, +unable to speak or move. His mother, half smiling, +half tearful, had both her hands clasped in +Ellis Farrant's; he was kneeling beside her in +such a theatrical attitude that, if Donovan had +not been altogether dismayed and astounded, +he must have been amused. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Farrant, looking up, saw her son, and, +with a sudden blush, began nervously, "Oh, +Donovan!" then, turning to Ellis, faltered, +"You must tell him." +</p> + +<p> +It was not a pleasant task, but Ellis, in the +triumph of his victory, could afford to meet a +trifling annoyance of this sort. With much real +trepidation carefully hidden beneath his most +jaunty manner, he crossed the room to the +mute statue-like form, which would not move +a hair's-breadth to meet him. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, my boy, I see there is little need to +tell you; I'm the happiest man in London, +Donovan. Your mother has consented to be +my wife. You must not be angry with me; +come, now, I am not going to steal her away +from you—of course we shall all live on at +Oakdene together. It is not every boy of your +age whom I should look forward to having as +a son; but you, Donovan, it is very different +with you; we have always been friends, have +we not? I remember him," he continued, +turning to Mrs. Farrant, "when he was quite a +little fellow, and as sharp as a needle, though +he couldn't have been more than seven." +</p> + +<p> +All this time Donovan's face had only grown +more hard and flint-like. Ellis, with his usual +tact, saw that his best policy would be to +retreat at once, ignoring his ward's anger, and +taking his congratulations for granted. He +pressed Mrs. Farrant's hand in his. +</p> + +<p> +"I must leave you now, dearest. You must +talk this over with your son." Then turning to +Donovan, "Stay, and hear all from your +mother. No, leave me to let myself out. Adela +said I should meet her in Dot's room. I'll just +run up." +</p> + +<p> +Already he seemed to behave as if the house +were his own. He held out his hand cordially, +but Donovan would not see it, still in perfect +silence he turned hastily to open the door +for his cousin, moving for the first time during +the interview. Ellis went out smilingly, +pretending not to notice the absence of all +response, but as the door closed, and he went +slowly upstairs alone, his brow clouded even in +this his moment of victory, and between his +teeth he hissed out the words, "Young viper! +I'll teach him to find his tongue! We'll have a +rather different interview, my friend, when you +come of age!" +</p> + +<p> +Donovan had been half paralyzed while Ellis +remained in the room, but no sooner had he +left it than, with sudden reaction, the frozen +blood seemed to boil in his veins. The stony +look on his face changed to passionate earnestness, +and crossing the room in hurried strides, +he stood close to Mrs. Farrant. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Mother!</i>" he gasped. Only that one word, +but there was such intensity, such pleading, +such misery in the tone, that the most eloquent +entreaties could not have been so stirring. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't agitate me, Donovan. I have been +so excited already," cried Mrs. Farrant, +shrinking from him, really alarmed by his looks. +"Don't, pray don't look so wild. I am very +sorry if you have been taken by surprise. I +thought, of course, you saw last autumn how it +was." +</p> + +<p> +"Last autumn!" said Donovan. "Last autumn +I could think of nothing but Dot. I was +blind—hoodwinked by his devices. Oh! mother, +do not, do not let it be. I see now how +it has all been—one long piece of manœuvering +from the very first. He has been trading on us. +He brought his sister down to dazzle me, to +draw off my attention. Mother, do not trust +him, he is false, and treacherous, and mean. +He will make you miserable!" +</p> + +<p> +"It is not your place to speak like this," said +Mrs. Farrant, with some resentment in her +tone. "You forget that Mr. Farrant is my +future husband; you forget that you are +speaking to your mother." +</p> + +<p> +"I do not forget," cried Donovan, vehemently. +"It is because I cannot forget you are my +mother that I must speak. I am your son, and +you must and shall hear me. I know Ellis +Farrant better than you do. You only see the +sleek, bland, polite side of him; but I have seen +him with other men. He is false, and grasping, +and selfish. If it had not been for him I might +not have been what I am now. Mother, do +not throw yourself away on such a man as that. +It will bring nothing but wretchedness on us +all. For Dot's sake, for your own sake, do not +let this be!" +</p> + +<p> +"I wish you wouldn't talk so wildly," said +Mrs. Farrant, half crying. "I don't know what +you mean by saying such dreadful things about +your—your guardian. It is very hard that +directly some one else begins to love me you +should suddenly wake up from your usual +indifference. You never loved me yourself, and +you will not let anyone else love me." +</p> + +<p> +"It is not true," said Donovan, greatly +agitated. "I could have loved you dearly, +mother, if you would only have let me. I do +love you—far, far more than that other man, +who only wants your money. Send him away; +do not listen to him. Let us be what nature +meant us to be to each other!" +</p> + +<p> +"You are mad! You frighten me. You +make my head ache," said Mrs. Farrant, +petulantly. "You have never shown me any +particular attention. I scarcely see you, except at +mealtimes. It is unreasonable of you to be +vexed because I accept an offer of marriage." +</p> + +<p> +"Have <i>I</i> driven you to it?" cried poor Donovan. +"Would I not willingly have been more +to you! Did I not tell you so long ago? And +you turned from me. You told me to be more +like that knave!" +</p> + +<p> +"If I told you so before, I certainly repeat it +now," said Mrs. Farrant. "Your guardian is a +gentleman. He would never speak in such a +way to a defenceless woman. When my only +son can attack me so fiercely, I think it is time +I accepted a husband to protect me." +</p> + +<p> +"Fiercely! Protect you!" echoed Donovan, +in a voice which, though less vehement, was +full of pain. Could she have thought his +passion of re-awakening love, his eager longing to +save her from certain misery was fierceness? +Bitterly wounded, he turned away with one +despairing sentence. "We shall never +understand each other." +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps not," she replied, "but, at any +rate, we must not again discuss this subject. +It would not be right for me to listen to you, +or for you to say such things again. Do you +understand?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," he murmured, "I have said my say." Then, +looking down at her again, he added, in +a strangely repressed voice, "When will it be?" +</p> + +<p> +"I do not know," she faltered. "Perhaps—perhaps +at the end of the season." +</p> + +<p> +There was a moment's pause, then in silence +Donovan crossed the room, and would have +gone out, but, by some sudden unknown +impulse, Mrs. Farrant stopped him. +</p> + +<p> +"Dono!" it was the old childish name, and it +checked him at once. "Dono, come back, come +back and kiss me." +</p> + +<p> +For years and years the formal salute had +passed between them every day, now for the +first time it was spontaneous, or rather Mrs. Farrant +felt for the first time a mother's natural +craving for affection, and Donovan was allowed +to give expression to the love which had never +really been quenched, only shut down and +restrained. +</p> + +<p> +The unwonted piece of demonstration helped +in part to take the sting from the unwelcome +news. Donovan's face as he returned to Dot's +room was sad indeed, but no longer bitter. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! Dono," she cried, eagerly, "have you +heard? Has Cousin Ellis told you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I have heard all," said Donovan, much +more quietly than she had expected. +</p> + +<p> +"And you do not mind so very much? I +was so afraid you would be vexed, because last +time Cousin Ellis was with us you kept on +wishing he would go." +</p> + +<p> +"I shall wish it pretty often again," said +Donovan, with a half smile, "but there is no +good in crying out now, the deed is done, and +we must make the best of it. I have said all I +can say, and it is no good." +</p> + +<p> +"You have been with mamma?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, we had a strange talk and a strange +ending to it; we must not forget she is our +mother, Dot." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! but what shall I say when she comes?" +said Dot, anxiously. "I can't say I'm glad. +What am I to do?" +</p> + +<p> +"Show her that you love her," said Donovan. +</p> + +<p> +Dot looked doubtful and troubled, but, as +Donovan sat down to the piano, and began to +play one of her favourite airs by Mozart, she +reasoned with herself till her resolution was +made. +</p> + +<p> +"It is far worse for him than for me, he will +have to give up all sorts of things when Cousin +Ellis marries mamma, and I know that he does +not like him at all. Doery said last autumn +that Cousin Ellis spoke shamefully to him +sometimes, and Doery doesn't often make excuses for +Dono. I am very selfish to mind about it myself, +when I don't even know why I mind. I'll try +to be nice when mamma comes up." +</p> + +<p> +While the mournful sweetness of "Vedrai +Carino" was still filling the room, Mrs. Farrant +entered. Donovan went on playing, knowing +that Dot would be less shy if her words were +sheltered by the music; but there were no words +at all, Dot only looked her love and put both +arms round her mother's neck. +</p> + +<p> +Donovan had not known his father sufficiently +well to feel his death very acutely. The shock +at the time had been great, and his grief then +had been very real, but he had soon recovered +from the blow, and now regarded it rather as a +loss which was to be deplored than as a +life-long sorrow. But with the prospect of his +mother's second marriage his thoughts naturally +reverted to his father; he lived over again the +sad meeting after his school disgrace, the day +at Plymouth, the brief time at Porthkerran, +and lastly the awful scene, when in an instant, +without a farewell word or look, his father had +been snatched from him. Slowly and carefully +he retraced the past, recalled all the +conversations between them, remembered his father's +courtesy, his sympathy, his gentle yet deeply-pained +allusion to the "breach of honour." What +a contrast he was to Ellis Farrant! The +one refined, dignified, upright; the other +ostentatious, false, and grasping! Donovan could +not judge people by the highest standard, but +he had a standard of his own, and Ellis fell +immeasurably below it. His mother had once +accused him of being self-satisfied, but his +self-reliance was not self-satisfaction, he was in +reality often bitterly out of heart with himself, +only the sweeping condemnation of all his +acquaintances forced him to assert himself. They +considered him a black sheep, and yet he felt +he was not all that they represented him. Still +there had been truth and sadness in his words +to his mother, when he said that Ellis had made +him what he was; even with his scanty light +he knew perfectly that his life was not what it +ought to have been; goodness and honour were +to be respected, and he struggled on in a blind +endeavour to reach his own standard. The +remembrance of his father helped him to a certain +extent, but it could not exercise a really +strong influence over him, for it was merely the +remembrance of what had once existed, and had +now passed away utterly and for ever. +</p> + +<p> +When not occupied with Dot, or engrossed +with his favourite pastime, life seemed to him +very hollow and unsatisfactory. When Mrs. Farrant +desired it, he went out with her; when +Adela particularly asked him, he would consent +to escort the two ladies to whatever place of +amusement they wished to go to, but it was all +very uncongenial to him. At concerts, not +being really musical, he soon grew weary and +bored; at the theatre he laughed bitterly at +what seemed to him a mere travesty of real life, +in which virtue was rewarded and vice punished +in an ideal way, very unlike the injustice of +real existence. At balls, or at fashionable +receptions, he saw merely the falseness of society, +the low motives, the heartless frivolity, the +absurd vanity of the individuals composing it. +He was certainly free from the annoyances he +met with at Oakdene; no one looked askance +at him here, no one had time to think of such +trifles; but, after the first novelty had worn off, +the change ceased to satisfy or relieve him. +He was really unhappy, too, about his mother's +second marriage. Little by little, as he felt +sure of his ground, Ellis Farrant had withdrawn +the mask of friendliness, and had allowed Donovan +to see what he really was; it had at present +been done only in part, and with great +judgment and tact, but it was just sufficient to +rouse his dislike, and to make him inclined in +arguments with his mother to speak against +his guardian, while Mrs. Farrant was of course +stimulated to defend him. +</p> + +<p> +Matters were thus with the son; with the +accepted lover—the successful schemer—they +were not much more happy. A great writer of +the present day has said that, if we do injustice +to any fellow-creature, we come in time to hate +him. It was thus with Ellis Farrant; he had +gone down to Porthkerran at the time of his +cousin's death, feeling a sort of admiration and +fondness for Donovan; the boy had always been +pleasant and companionable; he liked him as +well as he liked anyone outside himself. But +then followed the sudden act of glaring injustice, +and as time passed he began to dislike his +unconscious victim more and more. The sight +of him was a continual reproach; he was uneasy +and restless in his presence, even at times +afraid of him. In the moment of his triumph +and success, his hatred increased tenfold, and +though, when he went up to Dot's room after +his interview with Mrs. Farrant and Donovan, +his manner was bland and smiling, Adela knew +him too well not to detect the latent irritation. +Anxious to know all the particulars which could +not be mentioned before the little girl, she took +leave rather hastily, tripped lightly down the +stairs, and, as soon as the hall door had closed +behind them, turned round eagerly to her brother. +</p> + +<p> +"I congratulate you, Ellis!" +</p> + +<p> +Ellis had overheard Donovan's eager tones +of expostulation as he passed the drawing-room +door, and the scowl on his face did not +at all befit an accepted lover. +</p> + +<p> +"Where do you want to go to?" he said, +crossly, not attending to her words. +</p> + +<p> +"Back to Eaton Place," said Adela, who was +staying with some friends. "What is the +matter with you? I thought all had gone so +well." +</p> + +<p> +"Well!—yes, so it has in the main, only that +young cub came in and spoilt it all; he's really +insufferable." +</p> + +<p> +"Now don't speak against my Augustus +Cæsar," said Adela; "he's not a bad boy at all. +What did he do?" +</p> + +<p> +"Do!" said Ellis, smiling a little—"he did +nothing; he stood and looked at me with a +stony face, very much like an old Roman, as +you are always saying." +</p> + +<p> +"I can just fancy it," said Adela, laughing, +"and my noble brother didn't quite enjoy the +lofty scorn. What did he say to it all?—was +he not surprised? He went down so casually +and unsuspectingly to see if you had come that +I had hardly the heart not to give him +warning. However, I kept my promise to you, +didn't I? It was well past five when I let him +go down." +</p> + +<p> +"You managed very well, and I'm much +obliged to you," said Ellis, recovering his good +humour; "he came in the very nick of time, +and saw it all at a glance." +</p> + +<p> +"Poor boy!—what did he say?" +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing; he looked thunderstruck, and +never said a single word—was as mum as a +dummy, in fact." +</p> + +<p> +"Or as dumb as a mummy," said Adela, with +a light laugh. "And you, I suppose, talked +glibly, and promised to be a devoted step-father?" +</p> + +<p> +"Something of the sort," said Ellis, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I don't wonder he doesn't like it," +said Adela. "Of course, he is practically master +at Oakdene; he won't enjoy making way for you." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't suppose he will," replied Ellis, +thinking of far more serious matters than his +sister. "But you know, my dear, we can't all +win in the game." +</p> + +<p> +"The winner can afford to moralise," said +Adela, rather contemptuously; "but I must not +scold you, for you have managed your work +very neatly, and of course I'm glad of your +success. When is it to be?" +</p> + +<p> +"The wedding? I don't know. Perhaps +the end of July. Anyhow, I'm afraid I shall +miss the grouse this year." +</p> + +<p> +"You horrid, matter-of-fact creature, to think +of it even," said Adela. "Middle-aged lovers +are no fun. They have lost the romance of +their youth." +</p> + +<p> +"We will leave that kind of thing for you +and your Cæsar," said Ellis, laughingly, as they +took leave of each other. +</p> + +<p> +"A thousand thanks," said Adela, with a +mocking bow, "but I have done with my +'beardless youth,' now that your affairs are +settled. It was the dullest flirtation I ever +had; for, quite between ourselves, that sort of +thing is not in Cæsar's line." +</p> + +<p> +"I daresay not. Mum as a dummy, you +know!" and Ellis turned away with a laugh in +which there was much spite and little merriment. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap10"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER X. +<br><br> +LOOKING TWO WAYS. +</h2> + +<p class="intro"> + Accuse me not, beseech thee, that I wear<br> + Too calm and sad a face in front of thine;<br> + For we two look two ways, and cannot shine<br> + With the same sunlight on our brow and hair.<br> + On me thou lookest with no doubting care,<br> + * * * * * * * * *<br> + ... But I look on thee—on thee—<br> + Beholding, besides love, the end of love,<br> + Hearing oblivion beyond memory;<br> + As one who sits and gazes from above,<br> + Over the rivers to the bitter sea."<br> + E. B. BROWNING.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"On the 29th inst., at St. George's, Hanover +Square, Ellis Farrant, only son of the +late J. E. Farrant, Esq., and nephew of the +late Thomas Farrant, Esq., of Oakdene Manor, +Mountshire, and Rippingham, Surrey, to Honora, +widow of Colonel Ralph Farrant, R.A., and +daughter of the late General Patrick Donovan. +No cards." +</p> + +<p> +Two old maiden ladies, who were spending +their summer holiday at a watering-place in the +south of England, and were partaking of a +rather late breakfast in the coffee-room of the +best hotel, wondered what there could be in the +first sheet of the <i>Times</i> to cause such a sudden +change in the face of their neighbour at the +next table. The kind old souls had made a +little romance about the handsome, grave-looking +young fellow, who had come to the hotel a +few days before, and used to sit down to his +solitary table in the coffee-room, never seeming +to care to talk with anyone. Miss Brown, the +elder, had made up her mind that he was an +Italian. He was dark and melancholy-looking; +Italians were dark and melancholy-looking, +therefore the young man was doubtless Italian. +Possibly he was an exile, and probably he was +married, the Italians, she believed, did marry +young, and no doubt his wife was a heartless, +worldly person, and caused her husband +endless trouble. Miss Brown the younger was +inclined to think the young man a Spaniard, +there was something very Spanish in his grave, +dignified deportment. (N.B.—Miss Brown had +never seen a Spaniard in her life.) She had met +him on the stairs one day as he was going out, +and he had taken off his hat as he passed her. +Very few Englishmen would have done that; +he was certainly a foreigner of some sort. She, +however, scouted the idea that he was married, +and made up her mind that he was crossed in love. +</p> + +<p> +"There is the young foreigner," Miss Brown +had said to her sister as Donovan came into the +coffee-room that morning. They had agreed +to call him the <i>foreigner</i>, as a sort of general +term which suited the opinions of each. +</p> + +<p> +"He is coming to this side of the room," said +Miss Marianne, looking up from her egg, but +hastily and decorously turning to the window, +and making a vague remark about the weather +when she found the dark, flashing eyes of the +stranger glancing across at her from the other +table. +</p> + +<p> +"He looks rather happier this morning," said +Miss Brown, in a low tone. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Marianne of course wished him to look +gloomy, and tried to see something melancholy +in the way in which he sipped his coffee, stroked +his moustache, and cut his roll in half, gently +insinuating to her sister that men in good +spirits would have broken a roll; that to be so +methodical in trifles was, she thought, rather a +sign of—in fact quite supported her theory. +Both ladies were a little startled when the +hero of their romance called a waiter, and +without the slightest foreign accent asked if the +morning papers had come. +</p> + +<p> +"Strange that he should care to see English +papers," said Miss Brown, musingly. +</p> + +<p> +"I believe I have heard that Spaniards are +very good linguists," said Miss Marianne, +timidly. +</p> + +<p> +"Not half so clever as Italians, my dear," +said the elder sister. "Think of Dante, +and—and Garibaldi." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Marianne was rather overwhelmed by +the mention of these great men, and did not for +a moment question that they had been renowned +linguists; she did indeed try to think of some +Spanish celebrity of equal renown, and racked +her brains for the name of the author of "Don +Quixote," but it had escaped her memory, and +before she could recall it the waiter returned +with the newspapers. The "foreigner" took +the <i>Times</i> and glanced rapidly down the first +column; Miss Brown would have liked to think +that he looked at the agony column, but his +eye travelled too far down the page for that, he +would have passed the space allotted to +sentimental messages, and have reached the +uninteresting notices of lost and found dogs, &c.; +Miss Marianne had the best of it now—he was +evidently looking at the marriages. The two +sisters almost gave a sympathetic start, when +suddenly their neighbour's forehead was sharply +contracted, and a quick flush rose to his cheek. +What could it be? The marriage of the girl +whom he loved? There was real and undoubted +romance here, not a question of it. How +interesting hotel life was, it must be something like +watching a play, though Miss Brown had never +been to the play—she would have thought it +exceedingly wrong. Poor boy! how impatiently +he throws down the paper, it falls on to the +floor, and Miss Marianne, leaning back in her +chair and trying to see below the cloth of the +adjoining table, maintains that he has put his +foot on it, actually "crushed it under foot," that +is very romantic! Then he hastily drains his +coffee cup, and when he puts it down, the flush +has died away from his face, and has left it +very pale, and cold, and still. The arrival of +the paper seems to have taken away his appetite, +for he abruptly pushes back his chair, leaves +his half-finished breakfast, and stalks out of the +room. +</p> + +<p> +The sisters were much excited. As they +walked on the beach that morning they agreed that +East Codrington was a charming place. Some +people called it dull, but for their part they +thought it a most amusing little town. It was +very pleasant to meet fresh faces, very interesting +to watch other people's lives. Miss Brown +said that the sea air or something made her feel +quite young again. Scarcely were the words +out of her mouth when Miss Marianne suddenly +caught her arm, exclaiming, +</p> + +<p> +"Sister, look, there is the 'foreigner' again!" +</p> + +<p> +Miss Brown looked along the esplanade for +the solitary figure with the grave dark face, +but could not see it. +</p> + +<p> +"There! there! not nearly so far off," said +Miss Marianne. "Don't you see him reading +to that little girl in the invalid chair?" +</p> + +<p> +"Impossible!" said Miss Brown, quickly. +"He is far too young to have a child of that +age; but it is the 'foreigner' I see, she must +be his sister. Suppose, Marianne, we sit down +a little." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Marianne owned that she was tired, and +the two ladies established themselves on the +beach, about a stone's throw from Dot and +Donovan, taking care to choose a side posture, +so that on one hand they could watch the sea, +and on the other the hero of their romance. +Every now and then the breeze wafted a sentence +of the reading to the two sisters. They +exchanged glances with each other, and Miss +Marianne whispered, "English!" Then something +in the book made both the reader and the +listener laugh heartily, and the name of "Ali +Baba" was caught by Miss Brown, who nodded +to her sister, and whispered, "The Arabian +Nights." Then came a fresh mystery, the +reader's face suddenly became dark and overcast, +and there was quite a different tone in his +voice as he read the words, "You plainly see +that Cogia Houssain only sought your acquaintance +in order to insure success in his diabolical +treachery." +</p> + +<p> +Now why should Cogia Houssain bring such +a strange bitter look into anyone's face? +Presently the story of the "Forty Thieves" +was finished, and the hero's face was +good-tempered again, he moved the little invalid's +chair quite to the edge of the esplanade, as +near as possible to the shingle, so that without +wilful listening the two old ladies could hear +all that passed perfectly; whatever their hero +was when alone, there could be no doubt that +he was merry enough now. +</p> + +<p> +There was a laughing discussion about the +dog's swimming powers. +</p> + +<p> +"You only tried him once in the Serpentine, +you know," said the little invalid. "I don't +believe you dare try him here." +</p> + +<p> +"See if I don't!" said Donovan, laughing, +and whistling to the fox-terrier. "I'll throw +him a stone." +</p> + +<p> +"No, no, that's no test," said Dot. "Throw +him your new stick. Ah! I believe you're afraid +to! You don't think he'll get it back!" +</p> + +<p> +"You dare me to?" asked Donovan. "Come +along, Waif, and show your mistress how clever +you are." +</p> + +<p> +The dog followed his master obediently across +the shingle to the water's edge, and plunged in +valiantly as soon as the stick was thrown. +Donovan had sent it far out, and the receding +tide was bearing it further still, but Waif swam +on indefatigably, and, after some minutes, +clenched it successfully in his teeth, and turned +back again. Dot waved her handkerchief from +the esplanade in congratulation, and both dog +and master hurried up the beach towards her; +on the way, however, Waif paused to shake the +water from his coat, and, unluckily, the two old +ladies were within the radius of the drops, and +received a sort of shower bath. Donovan +hastened up to apologise. +</p> + +<p> +"I am afraid my dog has been troubling you. +I hope he has done no damage?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! none, thank you," said the sisters, +smiling. "Salt water never gives cold. We +were much amused by watching him in the sea." +</p> + +<p> +"He's a capital swimmer. My little sister +wouldn't believe he was a water-dog," and +then, raising his hat, Donovan passed on with +a triumphant greeting to the little invalid. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, Dot! own now that you're beaten." +</p> + +<p> +"Quite beaten. He was splendid," said Dot, +enthusiastically. +</p> + +<p> +Presently, as the old ladies rose to move on, +and passed close to the brother and sister, Dot +looked up in her sweet shy way, and said, +</p> + +<p> +"I hope Waif did not hurt your dress just now?" +</p> + +<p> +Miss Marianne, with a beaming face, hastened +to re-assure her. +</p> + +<p> +"Not in the least, my dear, thank you," and +then, touched by the fragile little face, the old +lady began to search in a Mentone basket that +she carried for some of the beach treasures +which she had been picking up. "Would you +like some shells, my dear? We have found +some rather pretty ones this morning." +</p> + +<p> +Dot's shy gratitude was very charming, and +Donovan, always pleased by any attention +shown to her, began to talk to the old ladies, +quite forgetting his usual haughty reserve. +</p> + +<p> +The Miss Browns' romance certainly died out +in the light of truth, but they were much +interested in the brother and sister, though their +hero had proved to be neither a Spaniard nor +an Italian. Donovan, however, was rather a +puzzle to them. In a few days' time, Miss +Marianne learnt to her regret, from some other +people at the hotel, that her hero, though so +devoted to his little invalid sister, was the most +noted billiard-player in the place, and the gentle +old ladies regretted it, for, as Miss Brown the +elder said, "it was a dangerous taste for such a +young man, particularly as he seemed to be his +own master." They talked the matter over +together, but agreed that they could not +presume to offer advice; however, an occasion +soon came when their consciences would not +allow them to keep silence. +</p> + +<p> +It was Sunday morning; Miss Marianne +timidly suggested that, if it would not be +wrong, she would very much like a little turn +on the esplanade before going to church. Her +sister was rather puritanical; however, she +thought there could be no harm in "taking +the air," so, armed with their large church +services and hymn-books, the two old ladies +set out. The day was intensely hot and sultry, +the sea was as calm as a mill-pond, the tiny +waves lazily lapping the shore as if they, too, +felt the heat, and could not dance briskly as +usual. There was a quiet Sunday feeling all +around; no stir of business or traffic; the +church bells ringing for service, and the +passers-by walking quietly, with none of the hurry +and bustle of the ordinary every day passengers. +The old ladies enjoyed their walk, +but just as they had turned for the last time +before going in the direction of the bells they +caught sight of their friends in the distance; +there was the invalid chair, with the little +pale-faced child, and on a bench beside her was +Donovan, in a most unsabbatical light-brown +shooting-jacket, and cloth travelling-hat; to +add to it all, he was smoking, and to the Miss +Browns the sight of a cigar was always a sight +to be deplored, but on Sunday smoking seemed +to them little better than sacrilege. Miss +Marianne was almost disarmed by the courtesy of +the greeting, but her sister would not allow +her face to soften; good looks and pleasant +manners were all very well, but "Sabbath +breaking" was a sin which could not be passed +by, so she tried not to see the fascinating dark +eyes, and said, gravely, +</p> + +<p> +"Are you not coming to church to-day, Mr. Farrant?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, Miss Brown," replied Donovan, not at +all offended by the question, to which indeed he +was pretty well accustomed, "Dot and I mean +to sit here and enjoy the view. A beautiful +day, is it not?" +</p> + +<p> +"It is very pleasant to see you so attentive +to your sister," said Miss Brown, severely, "but +religion ought to stand first, young man. The +soul ought to be considered before the body." +</p> + +<p> +"There is a very good preacher at St. Oswald's," +suggested Miss Marianne, timidly. +</p> + +<p> +Donovan looked at her half sadly and half +amusedly, but shook his head, and the two +ladies passed on, Miss Brown gathering up her +skirts as though she would really be sorry to +touch such a hardened and misguided sinner. +</p> + +<p> +He resumed his cigar, but with rather a +clouded brow, wishing that people would leave +him unmolested. Dot was the first to break +the silence. +</p> + +<p> +"What does 'soul' really mean, Dono?" she +began, in her childish voice. "Doery calls old +Betty, the charwoman, 'poor soul,' but I fancy +that is because her husband drinks. Are we all +poor souls?" +</p> + +<p> +"Most of us," said Donovan, shortly. +</p> + +<p> +"But what is a soul?" persisted Dot. +</p> + +<p> +"A name given by some people to the mind," +he replied. "Though I daresay those old ladies +would not agree to that, and would tell you it +was quite a different part of you." +</p> + +<p> +Now Dot had lived on contentedly for many +years in entire ignorance, but she was just +beginning to be roused, and the words of the +two old ladies had perplexed her. +</p> + +<p> +"What part of us is it?" she questioned. +</p> + +<p> +He hesitated for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +"The part you love me with, I suppose." +</p> + +<p> +"Then do you think it would be really good +for the part you love me with to go to church?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, you sweet little arguer, I don't," he +replied, smiling; "and, if it would, I shouldn't +go and leave you in your pain, but don't trouble +your head about the matter, darling. If religion +makes sour, selfish, soul-preservers like that, it +stands to reason it's false. I'll have none of it! +Fancy listening to a sermon with the idea that +it was virtuous, and leaving you to Doery's +tender mercies, or all alone with the sun blazing +in your eyes!" +</p> + +<p> +He held the umbrella more protectingly over +her as he spoke, and was rather vexed to see +that her usually smooth serene forehead was +knitted in anxious thought. +</p> + +<p> +"What is the matter?" he asked, jealous of +anything which she kept back from him. +</p> + +<p> +"I am so puzzled," said Dot, wearily. "I +don't know what people mean by religion; my +head aches so. Do you think I ought to make +myself think what it is?" +</p> + +<p> +"Of course not, you dear little goose," he +said, stroking back the hair from her hot face. +"Who put such morbid ideas into your head?" +</p> + +<p> +"No one," said Dot, wistfully, "only it seems +as if we ought to find out which is right, you +or the other people." +</p> + +<p> +"It will not make much difference, perhaps," +said Donovan, throwing away the end of his +cigar. "We shall all come to an end, I suppose—be +smoked out and thrown away, so to speak." +</p> + +<p> +Dot looked troubled, and he hastily bent +down and kissed her. +</p> + +<p> +"We are talking of things we know nothing +about, dear. You and I must love each other, +that is all I know. Don't let us talk of this +any more, it only worries you." +</p> + +<p> +"But, Dono, just one thing more. When it +is all done, when we die, shall I have to leave +off loving you?" +</p> + +<p> +A black shadow passed over his face, but he +did not answer. Dot understood what he +meant, and clasped her tiny fingers round his tightly. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! Dono," she said, mournfully, "I couldn't +bear to stop loving you—I had never thought +about that. Oh! I hope I shall live to be very, +very old, even if I'm always ill. Why is your +face so white and stiff, Dono? Are you thinking +what you would do if I didn't live to be old?" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Don't!</i>" he cried, passionately, and there +was such anguish in his tone that Dot looked +half frightened, and faltered, +</p> + +<p> +"I didn't mean—I'm very sorry." +</p> + +<p> +He kissed her, and she noticed that his lips +were very cold, and his voice, though quieter +when he next spoke, sounded odd and unnatural. +</p> + +<p> +"It is all right, darling—I didn't mean to +frighten you—it is nothing. I must be +alone—I must think." +</p> + +<p> +He moved her chair into the shade, and then +walked along the shore battling with the terrible +thoughts which filled his mind. What if +Dot should be taken away from him? It was +the same agonizing idea which Adela's words +had suggested to him not long before. Now +he was alone and could allow himself to face it, +could relax for the time the control which in +her presence he was obliged to keep up. +Throwing himself down on the shingle, he +allowed the shadowy foes one after another to +throng up into his mind, wrestling with each +in a vain, hopeless endeavour to crush them. +Sooner or later the end must come, he knew it +perfectly well, and yet, like a hunted creature, +he tried for some possible means of escape, or +at any rate of delay. Could he force himself, +for the sake of peace, to believe what popular +religion taught? No, he told himself that it +would be as impossible as to believe in the old +Norse legends of the happy hunting fields. +There was no escape for him, the separation +must be faced. +</p> + +<p> +He lay stretched out on the pebbles with his +face turned from the light, more wretched and +forlorn than the poorest beggar in East +Codrington. His miserable struggle and dumb +despair were at last broken in upon by the sound +of a voice in the distance, a high-pitched man's +voice, which beat uncomfortably on his ear, +and sounded melancholy and depressing, as +open-air speaking generally does sound. He +started up impatiently, and saw that a street +preacher had gathered together a little knot of +men and women on the beach, at no great +distance from him. He disliked the interruption, +and yet, with a sort of curiosity, sauntered +towards the little group, and listened for a few +minutes, but unfortunately the preacher +happened at the minute to be denouncing "modern +ritualism" with much bitterness, and he soon +turned away contemptuously. Did not these +professing Christians "bite and devour" one +another? Did they not unsparingly condemn +all with whom they did not agree? And, holding +the views they did about the future state, did +they not still live easy, quiet, indulgent lives, +though they believed that more than half +mankind would finally be "lost"? +</p> + +<p> +By-and-by there was singing; with great +gusto the preacher started the hymn "There +is a fountain." Donovan's misery had been keen +enough before, this just made it complete. The +old melody—powerful though it is when sung +by a great multitude—has something extremely +aggravating about it. +</p> + +<p class="t3"> + "I <i>will</i> believe—I <i>do</i> believe!"<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Over and over again with emphatic untunefulness +the motley crowd roared and shouted the +refrain. +</p> + +<p> +Donovan's dark face grew darker, he set his +teeth, listened for a time, then walked away +with a look of intense scorn, resolving in his +own mind that, miserable though he was, he +would at least be honest, no cupboard faith for +him! +</p> + +<p> +Dot did not allude to the conversation again. +She could not bear to risk recalling the look of +pain to Donovan's face, and if she puzzled over +the difference of opinion which had attracted +her notice, she kept her difficulties to herself; +but she fancied she understood why it was that, +not long after that Sunday, Donovan made +arrangements with an artist staying in the +hotel to paint a miniature of her. A sweet, +wistful, and yet childlike face it was, but the +artist idealised it, and gave to the beautiful +eyes more fulness of satisfaction than just at +that time they really expressed, leaving it to +the lips to show whatever latent sadness or +desire there remained. +</p> + +<p> +In September the visit to Codrington was +ended; Mrs. Doery was obliged to be at Oakdene to +superintend the preparations for the return of +her master and mistress, and Donovan wished +to be at home when his mother arrived, chiefly +from a dislike to coming back when his step-father +was actually installed in his new position +as head of the household; he chose to be there +beforehand, and awaited the return in a sort of +proud silence, never even to Dot breathing a +single word which could tell how much he +dreaded it. +</p> + +<p> +On the whole the event proved to be not half +so disagreeable as he had expected. Ellis was +kind and conciliatory at first, and, though his +patronage was hard to bear, Donovan had sense +enough to be thankful for whatever would avert +an open quarrel. He felt instinctively that sooner +or later there would be disagreement between +them, and for Dot's sake he was glad to keep +the peace. +</p> + +<p> +What he really suffered from chiefly that +autumn was an utterly different thing. Under +the new <i>régime</i>, Doery had been constituted +housekeeper; Ellis was hospitable, and +constantly had the Manor full of his friends, so +that Mrs. Farrant did not care for the burden +and anxiety of household management; it was +quite another thing to the quiet routine which +she had been able to superintend with little +trouble before her second marriage. Mrs. Doery +therefore ascended in the domestic scale from +nurse to housekeeper, and a new attendant +waited on Dot in her place. It seemed a very +trifling change in the house, only a new +servant, only one insignificant addition, hardly +worth thinking of, but to Dot the change meant +the opening of a new life. Now, at last, she +began to understand the meaning of things. +Phœbe, who had been blessed with better +teaching than poor old Mrs. Doery, and was more +loving and kind-hearted, opened an entirely +new world to her little helpless charge, and +Dot, in her simple, childlike happiness in the +new revelation, wondered why people had not +told her before, but never thought of blaming +them for the ignorance in which they had let +her grow up. +</p> + +<p> +Her simple, unquestioning acceptance of the +most incomprehensible doctrines was a marvel +to Donovan; he could not the least understand +it. Dot once or twice spoke with him on the +subject, but he always silenced her gently, for, +though he could not understand or sympathise +with her new happiness, he was unwilling to +interfere with it, or to trouble the child's mind +with his own views. He thought it all a +delusion, and it pained him that she should believe +it; but, seeing how much it must soften both +life and death to her, he was willing that she +should believe in the delusion. Still the trial +to himself was very hard to bear, for though to +Dot the change seemed only to intensify her +love, and in no way to interfere with Donovan's +place in her heart, he necessarily felt that there +was a barrier between them; what to him did +not exist was everything to her; till lately she +had depended entirely on him, now he was +superseded—dearly loved still, but yet +superseded. This was a greater trouble than all the +annoyance of his mother's second marriage. +Donovan loved Dot so blindly and solely that +the idea of not reigning alone in her heart was +terrible to him. Ever since his childhood he +had been her protector; to yield her to any +other love in which he believed would have +been very hard, but to allow his place to be +usurped by that which he could not comprehend +or believe to be, was bitter beyond all thought. +It was, perhaps, the most severe test of his love +that there could have been; he passed through +it without faltering, tried to find comfort in the +sight of her serene happiness, and bore his pain +in silence; the fact that it was a strange, +unnatural, morbid pain did not make it any easier +to endure, but quite the contrary. +</p> + +<p> +Ellis Farrant, not having too tender a +conscience, managed to enjoy his new position +thoroughly for the first few months. He was +in many ways a good-natured man, and it was +very pleasant to him, after his bachelor life and +small income, to find himself at the head of a +comfortable and even luxurious home; his wife +was pretty and placid, his means were ample, +he was able to ask his friends down to Oakdene +for the shooting, and altogether he thoroughly +appreciated his change of fortune. For a little +while he even felt kindly disposed to Donovan, +for, as he said to himself, the poor wretch would +have a hard enough life next year, when he +came of age, and might as well enjoy the +present. He even at times began to regret the +part he had set himself to play, wavered a little, +and half contemplated starting his ward in some +profession fairly and honourably. If Donovan +had behaved sensibly, this really might have +come about, but he was not sensible. In a very +short time he began to grow weary of making +polite responses to his step-father's patronage; +he never openly disputed his authority or +actually quarrelled with him, but he allowed his +dislike to show itself, and took no pains to be +pleasant and companionable. Ellis was not a +man to be trifled with; his kindness was a mere +impulse, and directly he found that Donovan +did not respond to it, he took offence, and +disliked him a great deal more than he had +previously done. +</p> + +<p> +It was a most unsatisfactory household. An +outsider, locking into the luxurious dining-room +of the Manor, might not have discovered +anything amiss, certainly; Mrs. Farrant, at the +head of the table, looked young and pretty and +languid; Ellis, at the opposite end, seemed +hospitable and good-natured; Donovan had +apparently everything that could be wished in +circumstances, health, and personal advantages. +But beneath all this outward appearance was a +miserable reality of injustice, jealousy, and +hatred. +</p> + +<p> +One evening in December, after Mrs. Farrant +had left the dinner-table, the storm broke at +last. Donovan had been more than usually +gloomy and depressed. Dot had just had one +of her bad attacks; he was worn out with +attending to her; he was morbidly unhappy at +the change in her views, and her supposed +change towards himself, and his manner +towards his step-father had been so short and +sullen that the elder man's patience at length +gave way. +</p> + +<p> +As the door closed behind Mrs. Farrant, her +husband refilled his glass, drained it, and then +suddenly confronted his step-son with the fierceness +of a weak, impulsive man who is thoroughly +exasperated. +</p> + +<p> +"I tell you what, Donovan, if you go on any +longer in this way, you can't expect me to be +civil to you. Do you think I shall stand having +a mute morose idiot of a boy always at my +table, a skeleton at the feast? If you don't +mend your manners pretty quickly, you won't +find this house comfortable." +</p> + +<p> +Donovan did not reply, but cracked three +walnuts in succession without even looking up. +The absence of retort only made Ellis more +angry, however. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you not hear me, sir?" he continued, +still more vehemently. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," said Donovan, looking up at last, and +speaking in a singularly controlled voice, which +contrasted strangely with his step-father's +violence. +</p> + +<p> +Ellis raged on, doubly irritated by the mono-syllable. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you think it is pleasant to me to have +your gloomy face always haunting me? I tell +you I'd rather sit opposite a skull and +cross-bones! I'm not going to have my new home +spoilt by an insufferable cub of your age." +</p> + +<p> +Now, with all his faults, Donovan had one +good quality which often stood him in good +stead. Old Mrs. Doery had at least taught him +one useful lesson in his childhood. She had +taught him to restrain himself, a lesson which, +in these days of universal license to the young, +is too often neglected. Many people would +have fired up at once, if they had been spoken +to in such a way. It would have been hard +under any circumstances, but when the words +were addressed to him in the house which had +been his own father's, and by the man who had +ousted him from his proper place, it must be +owned that they were most intolerable. He +flushed deeply and bit his lip. +</p> + +<p> +"I am glad to see you have the grace to be +ashamed," said Ellis, provokingly, impatient of +this continued silence. +</p> + +<p> +By this time Donovan had himself well in +hand. His face was calm and rigid, and he +could trust himself to reply without losing his +temper, though his cold pride was not likely to +choose wise words. +</p> + +<p> +"I am sorry to have annoyed you, but naturally +'as you have brewed so you will drink.' I +have not changed particularly in the last few +months, and I suppose last summer you +foresaw that there would be two incumbrances in +your new home." +</p> + +<p> +Of course this only angered Ellis still more. +</p> + +<p> +"You young puppy!" he exclaimed, angrily, +"do you remember whom you are speaking to? +Do you know that I can turn you out of the +house, if I like? Do you recollect who I am?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," said Donovan, ironically, "I remember +that you are my father's trustee and my +guardian." +</p> + +<p> +Ellis suddenly changed colour, pushed back +his chair, and began to pace up and down the +room. His step-son's words had stung him far +more deeply than the speaker intended. "His +father's trustee!" yes, and what a trustee! +The name itself was a reproach and a mockery! +He felt afraid of Donovan, ashamed to look at +him; his recent anger and hatred suddenly +died away into a trembling shrinking dread. +This boy, whom he had cheated and robbed +and fatally injured, was able at times to +influence him greatly. He felt that he must be +pacified and kept at bay during the few months +which remained of his minority. +</p> + +<p> +On the whole, Ellis did not look very much +like a happy bridegroom and head of the +household as he came back to the table. He was +ashy pale, and his hand shook as he poured out +his next glass of wine. Donovan, as he waited, +with his cold impassive face, expecting a fresh +burst of anger, was surprised when his step-father +next broke the silence, to find that the +storm had been as brief as it had been severe. +There was an almost pitiable struggle for really +frank reconciliation in Ellis's tone as he said, +</p> + +<p> +"Come, old fellow, don't let us quarrel; we +have always been friends. I spoke hastily just +now, but, you know, you really cut your own +throat by looking so glum. Everyone would +like you twice as well if you had a little more +go in you. Probyn was saying only the other +night what a clever fellow you were. He said +he hadn't met a better whist-player for years. +You think everyone's against you, and so you're +morose and reserved, but I don't know a fellow +who has more advantages than you, if only +you'd condescend to use them a little more. +There! you see I'm giving you quite a paternal +lecture. Put that in your pipe, and smoke it. +What do you say to some cribbage, now?" +</p> + +<p> +"I'll come down at ten," said Donovan, +allowing his face to relax; then, sweeping up a +handful of walnut shells, he left the table, and +spent the rest of the evening with Dot, making +a miniature fleet of boats, to her great content. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap11"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XI. +<br><br> +"LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY." +</h2> + +<p class="intro"> + Heart's brother hast thou ever known<br> + What meaneth that No more?<br> + Hast thou the bitterness outdrawn,<br> + Close hidden at its core?<br> +</p> + +<p class="intro"> + Oh! no—draw from it worlds of pain,<br> + And thou shalt surely find,<br> + That in that word there doth remain<br> + A bitterer drop behind.<br> + ARCHBISHOP TRENCH.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Phœbe says she doesn't think I shall be +really frightened when the time comes, +and there isn't anything really to be afraid of, +you know—it is so different now; when we +talked about it at Codrington it all seemed so +dark and dreadful I couldn't bear ever to let it +come up to be thought over. How long one +can put away things when they are not nice to +think about?" +</p> + +<p> +"Then why do you talk like this, what good +does it do?" questioned Donovan. It was a +December afternoon, and they were talking in +the twilight. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm sorry, I had forgotten. It was very +selfish," said Dot, penitently. It was so hard +for her to remember that Donovan did not share +in her new sense of relief, that she more than +once made little allusions of this sort; had she +been less simple and childish, his want of +participation would have made her unhappy, as it +was, however, she was content to leave it, sure +that in time it would come to him. +</p> + +<p> +Donovan was very irritable that day, not, of +course, with Dot, he was always gentle with +her even when in his worst moods, but he was +in one of his querulous, carping humours, and +quarrelled with everything he read. The oft +quoted line of Pope's, +</p> + +<p class="t3"> + "One truth is clear, whatever is is right,"<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +was quite sufficient to call forth an angry tirade. +</p> + +<p> +It was a lie, it could not possibly be proved! +Were murder, and fraud, and oppression, and +injustice right? People had no business to +make great, false, sweeping assertions of that +kind. The anger soon came down to more +personal matters. +</p> + +<p> +"Was it right, do you think, that you and I +should have been left to old Doery, and bullied +and tormented as we were? Was it right that +you should be mismanaged and half killed by +an owl of a country doctor? Is it right that +you should be suffering as you are now?" +</p> + +<p> +"Some things do seem hard," said Dot, +"but we have not got to understand why +everything is, and I think it's best to be still +and take what comes. Do you know, Dono, +sometimes when I'm very cross with the pain +for coming back so often, I think of what we +saw at Codrington. Do you remember the little +bay where the rocks were, and how we used to +watch the waves dashing so angrily against the +very tall upright rock, and passing so quietly +over the little ones? I think if we are patient, +and don't set ourselves up to fight against the +pain and grumble at it, it is not half so hard to +bear." +</p> + +<p> +Now Donovan had always felt a sort of +sympathy with the tall solitary rock, with its +hard jagged outline, braving in its own strength +the power of the waves. Dot's idea did not +please him; patience, lowliness, and submission +were virtues far beyond his comprehension, and +he felt very strongly that painful sense of +separation which had sprung up so strangely +between them during the last few months. He +felt far away from Dot, and he hated the feeling +and quickly changed the subject. +</p> + +<p> +"Shall I read something else to you?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"I should like some music," said Dot, knowing +that this would lead to no discussion which +could displease Donovan, and then ensued what +some people would have thought a rather +incongruous selection, ranging from Sebastian +Bach to the latest popular song, and from +"Vedrai Carino" to "The Green Hill far away." There +was no distinction in music to Donovan, +he played all Dot's favourites one after the +other. In the middle of the last hymn Mrs. Farrant +came in. It was the time of her second +daily visit. +</p> + +<p> +"Pray stop that tune, Donovan," she said, +plaintively. "We are always having it in church, +and I am so tired of it, the boys sing it frightfully +out of time, and always get flat in the last +line. How do you feel this afternoon, Dot?" +</p> + +<p> +"Better, thank you, mamma," said Dot, looking +wistfully across the room at Donovan, as he +tossed aside the hymn-book impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +"Really better?" questioned Mrs. Farrant, +with anxiety, for Dot had been suffering so +much more lately, that even her calm phlegmatic +nature had been stirred to uneasiness +and apprehension. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I think so," said the little girl. "Dono +and I have been settling our Christmas presents, +and what do you think he is going to give me, +mamma? A clock—a dear little clock of my +very own." +</p> + +<p> +She had gained the end she wanted; Donovan, +who had been at the other side of the +room, turned round, met her eyes, and came to +her. +</p> + +<p> +"Dono spoils you, I think," said Mrs. Farrant, +smiling; and somehow the words, trifling as +they were, drew the three together. Donovan +recovered his temper, and for once talked +naturally before his mother, teased Dot merrily, +and quite surprised Mrs. Farrant by his high +spirits. "I never saw you so talkative before," +she remarked, as the dressing-bell rang, and +she rose to go. +</p> + +<p> +"It is Dot who teaches us how to laugh," +said Donovan. "You are a little witch, and +sweep away bad humours instead of cobwebs." +</p> + +<p> +Christmas to Donovan only meant a full +house, an incomprehensible gaiety and good +humour, a conventional old-fashioned dinner, +which he did not like, and a certain amount of +holly and ivy. In his different way he was +quite as far from understanding it as poor +old Scrooge in the "Christmas Carol." The +year before old Mr. Hayes had dined with them, +but he was now far away, for, not many weeks +before, his "castle in the air" had become a +reality; an old friend of his had returned from +the United States, having made his fortune; +he had come to Oakdene to see Mr. Hayes, had +discovered the great wish of his old school-fellow, +and had suggested a six months' tour +on the Continent, in which he was to bear the +greater part of the expense. So the old man +in childlike glee had let his cottage and started +for Italy, taking a cordial farewell of Donovan, +and recommending him to follow his plan, +which was now coming to such a successful issue. +</p> + +<p> +The guests, therefore, this year only consisted +of Adela Farrant and two friends of Ellis's; +nor was the misanthropical Donovan very sorry +that such should be the case. There was +something almost ghastly to him in the merriment +which everyone seemed to think it right to +force up. The real happiness of the season was +of course utterly unknown to him, and he had +not even any recollections of the "merry Christmas" +of childhood to fall back upon. +</p> + +<p> +Adela tried to tease him into a little conversation +as she sat beside him at dinner, but it +was hard work. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you know, Donovan, I was staying at a +country house in Sussex last September, and +the first night I got there I saw some one who +reminded me so much of you." +</p> + +<p> +"Indeed!" replied her taciturn companion. +</p> + +<p> +"He was not so much like you in face as in +manner; I thought to myself, no one but my +cousin Donovan sits through an evening in such +complete silence, and afterwards—what do you +think?—I found out that your double was +dumb." +</p> + +<p> +Donovan laughed a little. +</p> + +<p> +"I can't make small talk," he said—"I told +you so long ago." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! of course your great intellect can't +stoop to frivolities," said Adela, with pretended +sarcasm in her tone, but laughter in her bright +eyes. "Perhaps you would kindly give me a +little instruction, though, on some of the +weighty subjects that fill your brain." +</p> + +<p> +He laughed again, but then, thinking of his +misery at Codrington, added, quite gravely, +</p> + +<p> +"My brain is anxious just now to forget +certain weighty subjects, not to rake them +up. Dot came out with one of her quaint +remarks the other day, which mix in so strangely +with her childishness; she noticed how wonderful +it was that you can put any subject out of +your head, when it is not pleasant to think of +it, for an almost unlimited time." +</p> + +<p> +"My dear cousin," said Adela, "do you mean +you always keep skeletons in your cupboard?" +</p> + +<p> +"The world is full of grim things—I try to +forget them," said Donovan. +</p> + +<p> +"You're the most extraordinary person," said +Adela. "You actually never mean to face these +things?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not till I'm obliged to," said Donovan. +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps that accounts for your stupidity," +said Adela, with a daring flash of her dark eyes. +"A thousand pardons—I mean the brevity of +your remarks." +</p> + +<p> +"There you have the worst of it, cousin, for +'Brevity is the soul of wit,'" said Donovan. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah! well, I think you are improved; you +shall not be scolded," replied Adela, +good-humouredly; then, resuming her playful +maliciousness, she continued—"It was such a pity +you weren't at church this morning; the +decorations were beautiful, really quite worth +seeing—a cross and two triangles of white azaleas +sent by the Wards, any amount of wreathing +round the pillars, and some charming devices +in Epsom salts on a red background." +</p> + +<p> +Donovan naturally scoffed at this. +</p> + +<p> +"I can't think how you can like that sort of +thing—if you despise and condemn pagans, +why do you borrow their customs?" +</p> + +<p> +"You hard, matter-of-fact creature! Why, +of course we must have a little beauty. Can't +you understand what a help it is?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, I can't," said Donovan, shortly. Then, +as the blazing Christmas pudding was brought +in, he continued his grumble. "This, too, is an +absurd, senseless old custom. What good does +it do us all to sit round the table and watch +blue flames, and then eat a horrible, black, burnt, +compound, like hot wedding-cake?" +</p> + +<p> +"You are a wretch," said Adela. "You +would like to sweep away all the dear old +manners and customs, and start us all in a new +order of things, where men would be machines, +and everything would be done by rule and +measure. You would like us all to be as +rational and comprehensible as vulgar fractious, +now would you not?" +</p> + +<p> +"It would simplify life," said Donovan, +smiling. +</p> + +<p> +"I knew you'd say so," said Adela, triumphantly. +"It's really quite dreadful to talk to +such a flint. Have you no associations with +the dear old things? Were you never young?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, I don't think I ever was," said +Donovan, with a touch of sadness in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +The conversation somehow paused here, until +an uncontrolled yawn on Donovan's part +stimulated Adela to a fresh effort. +</p> + +<p> +"You are horribly uninteresting," she said. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I'm most abominably sleepy. I was +up last night." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah! so Dot told me," replied Adela. "You +tell her stories, she says, just like the wonderful +story-teller in the 'Arabian Nights,' one +after the other." +</p> + +<p> +"It amuses her," said Donovan, "and sometimes +I have sent her to sleep in that way, but +we couldn't manage it last night. She is +dreadfully worn out to-day after all the pain." +</p> + +<p> +"These attacks seem much more frequent +than they used to be," said Adela. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," he replied, and there was something +in his voice which made Adela suddenly grave, +but in a minute he recovered himself, and with +his ordinary manner asked if he should peel an +orange for her. +</p> + +<p> +Just then some carol-singers began a hymn +outside, but the rest of the party were not +quite in the humour for hymns. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! those boys sing so badly," said +Mrs. Farrant. "Do send them away, Ellis." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I think we had about enough of them +this morning at church," said Ellis, and he +would have sent word to them to go had not +Donovan risen. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll take them round to the other side of the +house," he said. "Dot likes music." +</p> + +<p> +"What!" exclaimed Adela, "you mean to +countenance a heathenish old custom, after all +you have said?" +</p> + +<p> +"Dot will like it," he replied, as if this were +a sufficient reason for countenancing anything. +</p> + +<p> +The little invalid's room seemed very quiet +and dim after the merry voices and bright lights +down below, and yet it was an unspeakable +relief to Donovan to be there with her once +more, away from the hollow merriment of his +step-father and the other guests, away from +Adela's good-humoured banter. Dot was in +bed, and there was about her that terrible +stillness of utter exhaustion which makes +illness, and especially a child's illness, so very sad +to see. She was quite worn out with sleeplessness, +and, though the pain was less severe +than it had been, her face still bore marks of +suffering. She did not move as Donovan +entered, but welcomed him with her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"You have done dinner quickly to-night," +she said. "You have not been hurrying to get +back to me?" +</p> + +<p> +"No; but some carol-singers have come," +said Donovan, "and I thought you would like +to hear them." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I am so glad!" she said, with child-like +pleasure. "I did so want to hear the carols +that Phœbe has been telling me about. Please +draw up the blind, Phœbe, so that they may +know we are listening. Oh! there is my clock +striking. Hark!" +</p> + +<p> +Donovan's present, an exquisite little travelling +clock, stood on the mantelpiece, and as Dot +spoke it chimed the hour, then struck eight +o'clock in sweet, low, muffled tones, like the +sound of a distant cathedral bell. +</p> + +<p> +"It is so beautiful," she said, happily. "It +will make the night go so much more quickly. +Now put your arm round me, Don dear." +</p> + +<p> +Then the choir-boys outside began their carol, +the voices sounding sweet and subdued as they +floated up into the silence of the sick-room. At +first the words seemed almost incongruous, the +dear old Christmas hymn had surely not been +meant for such sadness, and suffering, and +anxiety? But the shrill fearless trebles went +on, and Donovan and Dot listened. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "God rest you, merry gentlemen,<br> + Let nothing you dismay,<br> + Remember Christ our Saviour<br> + Was born on Christmas Day;<br> + To save us all from Satan's power.<br> + When we were gone astray;<br> + O tidings of comfort and joy,<br> + Comfort and joy,<br> + O tidings of comfort and joy!"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Dot caught the refrain which came at the end +of every verse, and was delighted with it. +By-and-by the singers went away, and Dot asked +to have some reading. Some one had sent her +a leaflet hymn; it was a description of the +"City with streets of gold," and Donovan read +it through patiently, though it seemed to him +sensational and unsatisfying, and he was grieved +to think that she could care for such material +delights as were described. It was a positive +relief to him that she did not like it. To sing +and rest in a luxurious city could not be her +ideal of a future life. +</p> + +<p> +"And besides," she said, in her quaint way, +"there isn't time to think about the houses, and +the streets, and the gardens, they don't make +the home; it is something like the home here, +I think; you know, though Oakdene is so +pretty, it is only because you are here that I +love it, it is you that I think of, not the house." +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause in which the candle flared +for a moment in its socket, and then died out, +leaving the room in darkness. The maid had +gone away. Donovan would have rung, but +Dot stopped him. +</p> + +<p> +"We won't have another," she said. "I like +to be in the dark when you hold me near you; +and, look, we can see the stars, there is dear +old Orion, he's my very favourite of all, I always +look for him. And, Dono dear, while we are all +alone like this I want to tell you something, +you won't like it now, but some day I am sure +you will. When Phœbe first told me everything +it was only through you that I could at +all understand. I had to think first what love +was, and what giving up was, and then I +thought of you, and how you loved me and +gave up all your life to me; no, I know you +will say you didn't give up anything, but you +have, Don, you have given up pleasure, and +rest, and change, and all sorts of things." +</p> + +<p> +"But do you think I could have been happy, +do you think life would have been tolerable if I +had gone away to enjoy myself and left you +alone?" said Donovan, hoarsely. +</p> + +<p> +"No, Don," she replied, nestling closer to +him, "I was quite sure you never could, and +then you see I could believe how the greatest +love of all could not leave us." +</p> + +<p> +He gave a mental ejaculation of thankfulness +that Doery had never grieved the tender little +soul with her cold-blooded Calvinism. Dear +little girl! she was happy enough in her new +convictions, he would not for the world have +disturbed her; in the dark he even smiled a +little to think that he had actually helped +towards establishing the "delusion" in her mind, +had helped to set up his rival. +</p> + +<p> +The next few days passed hopefully, Dot +seemed to grow a little stronger again, and, +as she had rallied from so many attacks, they +all began to feel relieved, and to fancy that +anxiety was over for the present. There was +to be a dance at the Manor on the 31st, and +when, at Christmas, Dot had been so seriously +ill, Mrs. Farrant had almost decided to postpone +it; however, she seemed to recover quickly, so +the arrangement was not altered, and the house +was soon in that state of excitement and +turmoil which invariably precedes any unusual +event of the kind. Adela Farrant was quite in +her element, and even succeeded in stirring up +Donovan to such an extent that he came down, +from what she called his "high horse," and +condescended to show some interest in the +arrangements. She was therefore doubly astonished +when, about eight o'clock on the evening +of the dance, she met him on the stairs, to find +that all his interest had suddenly abated. +</p> + +<p> +"Try to get this affair over as quickly as you +can," he said, as they passed each other. +</p> + +<p> +"What do you mean?" said Adela, standing +still. "You are coming down, are you not?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, I can't, it's quite impossible. Dot is so +restless and poorly, I'm afraid she is in for +another of her bad attacks; I want you to get +the people away as soon as may be, the noise +is sure to worry her." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! she'll be asleep before it begins," said +Adela. "No one will be here till nine o'clock, +I should think." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I hope it will be so. It's an +abominable nuisance, though, that the house should +be all upset to-night." +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, he opened the door of the little +invalid's room, and shut himself in, while Adela +passed down the stairs to the drawing-room, a +little annoyed at what she called "Cæsar's +desertion," and vaguely uneasy at his account of +Dot. One of the guests was, however, greatly +relieved at his absence; Mrs. Ward really began +to enjoy the evening when she found that the +"dangerous young man" did not appear; she +was quite content that her daughters should +dance with Major Mackinnon and Mr. Probyn, +two friends of Ellis Farrant's who were staying +at the Manor. They were quite distinguished-looking +men; Mrs. Ward was glad that her +girls should have such nice partners, and +remained in happy ignorance that they were in +reality characters beside whom the poor black +sheep of Oakdene would have become almost +white in contrast. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, in the room above, Dot was in +that state of strange, restless misery which +always preceded her attacks—A sort of +anticipation of the pain. This was the time when +her courage was most apt to fail; she could not +bear the thought of the suffering beforehand, +though, when it actually came, she was always +brave and patient. In vain did Donovan try +every possible means of sending her to sleep. +Every preventative which the doctors had +ordered to be tried at such times had of course +been brought to bear upon the poor little girl, +but to-night nothing seemed to have any effect. +Donovan read to her, played to her, told her +story after story, but she grew rapidly worse, +and they at length realised that some fresh +form of illness must have set in; much as she +had suffered, she had never been in such +terrible pain before. Old Mrs. Doery, who had +nursed her through so many illnesses, was +summoned at once, and the younger nurse went +downstairs to find a messenger who could be +sent for the doctor. The house, however, was +all in confusion, and in a few minutes Phœbe +returned in despair; the other servants were +too busy to go; she could not even persuade +any of the servants of the guests to ride over +to Greyshot with the message. +</p> + +<p> +"This miserable dance!" exclaimed Donovan, +angrily. "Well, I must go myself, then; I +shall be quicker than any of those lazy knaves." +</p> + +<p> +But Dot clung to him. +</p> + +<p> +"It is so hard to bear without you. I +will be good if it's really best, but—but——" +</p> + +<p> +It cost him a hard struggle to decide, but, +knowing that an unwilling messenger would be +slow, he felt that the only sure way was to go +himself; there was no time to be lost. He bent +down to kiss the poor little quivering lips, and +said, very gently and firmly, +</p> + +<p> +"It <i>is</i> best, darling. Be brave; I shall not +be long." +</p> + +<p> +She tried to smile, and he hurried away, sick +at heart. Rushing headlong downstairs, snatching +up his hat from the stand, brushing past +some astonished visitors, he ran at full speed +to the stables, saddled the cob with his own +hands, and in five minutes was on the road to +Greyshot. He had dashed out from the heated +room just as he was; the night was piercingly +cold, the snow was falling fast, and the north +wind blew the flakes into his eyes, so that he +was almost blinded by them; he shivered from +head to foot, but did not know that he shivered—all +that he felt was an overwhelming anxiety +and dread. What if he should never see Dot +again? The extraordinary severity and +suddenness of this illness had alarmed them +all—what if she sank under it? And he had refused +her last entreaty! Oh! bitter agony, what if +he reached home too late! "Too late! too +late!" The very sound of the horse's hoofs +echoed his fears, the muffled footfall as they +galloped on over the snowy road. And yet +it was the only sure way of getting the doctor; +he knew he had been right to come; it might—it +was just possible that it might save Dot +some minutes of pain—it might save her life. +But again his heart sank down like lead under +the oppression of the one horrible fear. That +ride was ever after a sort of nightmare +recollection to him. +</p> + +<p> +At last he thought it was ended; he sprang +down at the door of the doctor's house and +rang furiously. The footman appeared in +answer. +</p> + +<p> +"Dr. L—— was dining at Monklands." +</p> + +<p> +Monklands was about two miles on the other +side of Greyshot. +</p> + +<p> +Poor Donovan rode on almost despairingly, +cursing his cruel fate. It was half-past ten by +the time he reached the house; then, to his +relief, he saw that Dr. L——'s carriage was +standing at the door. He would not dismount; +the doctor came out to him at once, and, on +hearing his account of Dot, prepared to come +to her directly, left a hurried message of +farewell to his host, and springing into his carriage, +drove home, promising to come on to the Manor +as quickly as possible. +</p> + +<p> +Donovan had neither whip nor spurs, but he +had what is far more efficacious—the power of +communicating his thoughts to animals; the +cob seemed to gather from the feeling of his +hand on her neck, from his occasional ejaculations, +all the anxiety of this ride. In spite of +the deep snow, he galloped on bravely; on +through the open country, through the silent +Greyshot streets, along the white deserted +road, till at length the lights of the Manor +shone out through the branches of the +ghostly-looking oak-trees, the bright lights in the +lower windows, and the dim light in the upper +room. Donovan's heart gave a great bound +when he heard in the distance the music of the +string quartette and the sound of dancing. It +was well with Dot then! In common decency +the house would have been in silence if his +fears had been realised. Forgetful of everything +but the one absorbing interest, he dashed +into the house, through the hall and up the +broad staircase; Miss Ward and her partner, +who were pacing up and down in the cool, +stared at the sudden apparition with its snowy +garments and strained expectant face; he +never even saw them, but, hurrying on, threw +aside his wet clothes, and in five minutes had +reached Dot's room. As he opened the door +two sounds mingled for an instant in his ear. +From below came the sound of the "grand +chain" in the "Lancers," and from the sick-bed +came a low sobbing moan. Phœbe was saying +something to the little girl; he caught the +words of one of her favourite hymns— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "We may not know, we cannot tell,<br> + What pains He had to bear."<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Dot saw him in a minute and gave a relieved exclamation. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! Dono, I'm so glad you are back; I've +wanted you so dreadfully. Let me hold your hands." +</p> + +<p> +His face, which had been rigid during the +time of his anxiety, was changed now to the +look of tenderness and even cheerfulness, which +he had learnt to wear when with the little girl. +</p> + +<p> +"Dr. L—— will be here almost directly, and +then he will make you more comfortable," he +said, taking his place at the bedside. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! Dono," she gasped, "sometimes I think +I shall never be comfortable any more." +</p> + +<p> +"You thought so last time you were ill," said +Donovan, soothingly, "and then after all you +had some quiet days." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, but this is worse. Oh, Dono, Dono!" +and again she broke into that wail of pain +which pierced the hearts of the watchers. +Donovan was the only one who never lost his +control; he was always ready with quiet, tender +words; sometimes when the pain was lulled for +a few minutes he would even make the little +girl smile. +</p> + +<p> +At last the doctor came, and Donovan waited +in fearful suspense for his opinion; he waited +outside the room in the gallery, pacing up and +down miserably, feeling chafed and annoyed by +the laughter and noise which reached his ears +from below. After some time Dr. L—— came +out, with a face which only too fully confirmed +his fears. +</p> + +<p> +"Cannot this noise be stopped?" he asked, a +little impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +"It <i>shall</i> be," said Donovan, with bitter +earnestness. "She is in danger, as I thought?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," said Dr. L——. "Mrs. Farrant ought +to be told at once." +</p> + +<p> +"You mean that—that the end is near?" +questioned Donovan, startled, in spite of his +forebodings. +</p> + +<p> +"It is an acute attack of inflammation; I am +afraid she must sink under it," replied the +doctor, gravely. +</p> + +<p> +Without a word Donovan went slowly down +the stairs to the room where the dancing was +going on. A Highland reel had just begun; +the tune "Tullochgorum" rang in his head for +weeks after. The greater number of the guests +were looking on at the dancers. Donovan saw +that his mother was quite at the other end of +the room, and, as he was arranging how best +to reach her, Ellis caught sight of him and +hurried towards the place where he was standing. +</p> + +<p> +"How now, Donovan, come to dance after +all, and in that old shooting-coat?" +</p> + +<p> +"You must stop this; Dot is ill," said +Donovan, in a hollow voice. +</p> + +<p> +"My dear fellow, you ask impossibilities; one +can't turn away seventy guests at a moment's +notice." +</p> + +<p> +"She is dying," said Donovan, and the words +sounded strangely out of place in the midst of +all the gaiety and merriment. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Dying!</i>" echoed Ellis, startled and shocked. +At an ordinary time he would have enjoyed the +opportunity of thwarting and annoying his +step-son; only a moment ago and something of +this sort had been in his intentions, but that +one word scattered all mean and unkind +thoughts; before the angel of death even this +selfish and dishonest man became softened and awed. +</p> + +<p> +"I will arrange it; the music shall of course +be stopped," he said, in really kind tones. +</p> + +<p> +Donovan thanked him, and asked him to tell +Mrs. Farrant, and Ellis at once complied, +crossing the room to the place where his wife was +talking with the squire, and telling her that she +must speak to Donovan for a moment outside. +</p> + +<p> +She was so completely overcome by the +unexpected news that Donovan was almost in +despair. To be kept away from Dot was terrible, +and yet he could not leave his mother in +her distress. Speaking with the perfect +gentleness and control which seemed specially given +to him that night, he at last persuaded her to +come and see the little girl, overruling the +sobbing, shrinking appeal, "that it was so +terrible, so sad—and she couldn't bear to go in +that dress." +</p> + +<p> +But a very few minutes beside the poor little +child's bed proved too much for Mrs. Farrant's +powers of endurance. The sight of her suffering +was indeed terribly painful, and with a +mother's instinctive love awakening in her +heart, but without a mother's long training in +self-denial and devotion, Mrs. Farrant naturally +could not control herself in the least; she +burst into tears, agitated Dot, and had at last +to be taken from the room. +</p> + +<p> +"I love her so," she said, piteously, to Donovan, +as he half carried her along the gallery, +and helped her on to her sofa. +</p> + +<p> +He bent down and kissed her. +</p> + +<p> +"You will come in again when you can?" he +said. "We will tell you when there is any +change." +</p> + +<p> +Adela came in while he was speaking, and he +left her with Mrs. Farrant, and hastily returned +to the sick-room. Dot was now growing delirious +with the pain, but, though she could not bear +anyone else even to touch the bed-clothes, she +liked him to hold her hand, and her unconscious +words were always spoken to him. The solemn +midnight was undisturbed by music or merriment; +instead of dancing the old year out and +the new year in, the guests were driving sadly +from the Manor. Dot was moaning in the last +sharp struggle of her little life, and Donovan +was watching beside her in anguish which could +only have been suppressed by the purest and truest love. +</p> + +<p> +There was not the smallest hope now. The +long night hours dragged slowly on, the +death-agony grew more and more intense, and the +doctor could do absolutely nothing to lessen +the pain. Poor old Mrs. Doery quite broke +down, and sat rocking herself to and fro with +her face buried in her apron. Phœbe, with a +white face, stood ready to do whatever she was +told. Donovan, never once faltering, bore up +with what the doctor described afterwards as +"really extraordinary fortitude, almost as if the +poor little girl's death would not be such a +dreadful blow to him." In reality, he was so +absorbed in her that he had not a thought to +spare for the future, and while he was near her +it was absolutely necessary that he should be +perfectly quiet and controlled. +</p> + +<p> +Once, for a few minutes, however, the doctor +asked him to leave the room, and then his +strong will gave way. Ellis had left Adela +with his wife, and, unable to go to bed, had +stretched himself on a sofa which, in the general +disarrangement of the house, had been placed +at the end of the gallery; he was beginning to +get drowsy when the opening of a door roused +him. Was it all over, he wondered! He sat up +and listened. A terrible cry of anguish in a +wailing, child's voice told him that Dot still +lived. Then for the first time he noticed that, +in the dim light, a few paces from him stood +Donovan. He, too, must have been listening, +for he made a half-choked exclamation as the +sound reached him, and staggering forward, +not noticing his step-father, sat down on a +chair near him, and with his arms stretched +across the table, and his head buried, gave way +to an overwhelming burst of grief. Ellis was +really touched, and almost infected too. +Instinctively he tried to show his sympathy. +</p> + +<p> +"Donovan, my poor fellow, don't give way. +While there's life there's hope, you know." +</p> + +<p> +"I wish she were dead," he groaned; "out +of the pain." +</p> + +<p> +"But she may get better," suggested Ellis. +</p> + +<p> +"No," he answered, with a great sob which +shook his whole frame, "it's only a question of +hours—hours of torture!" +</p> + +<p> +Then springing up in a sort of frenzy, and +dashing the tears from his eyes, he seized hold +of Ellis's arm. +</p> + +<p> +"Here! you who believe in a God—get down +on your knees and pray for her—pray that she +may die!" +</p> + +<p> +Without waiting for an answer from the +astonished Ellis, he turned to the window, tore +back the curtain, threw open the casement, and +leant out into the black night. Somewhere, +somewhere in that yawning space there surely +must be a Power who could help him in his +fearful need! His whole heart went out in a +passionate cry to the vast unknown. +</p> + +<p> +"God! God! Exist! Be! Stop this agony! +Let her die! What good can it possibly do? +Let her die!" +</p> + +<p> +It was the first prayer he had ever prayed. +</p> + +<p> +There was a touch upon his arm, he turned +and saw Phœbe standing beside him. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Dot is asking for you, sir, but won't +you take something before you go back?" +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head, but, as he passed Ellis, +asked him to give Phœbe and Mrs. Doery some +wine. Then he went back to the sick-room, +composed his face with an effort, and resumed +his place beside Dot. +</p> + +<p> +"Dono, talk to me," was the very first +request, and he did talk bravely and soothingly, +in the continuous way which Dot always liked. +Taciturn and unimaginative as he really was, he +had long ago learnt to overcome all his natural +difficulties, and utterly to disregard his own +tastes and inclinations when Dot was in any +way concerned. +</p> + +<p> +At last the pain grew less severe, the +poor exhausted little life began to ebb away +fast. When the longed-for relief came, +Donovan knew that the end was very near. He +breathed more freely. +</p> + +<p> +"The pain is all gone," whispered Dot, after +a long quiet interval, "will it never come again? +Is it gone for always, Dono?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, darling, I think quite gone," he replied; +his dreary creed did not allow him to say more. +</p> + +<p> +"It is so comfortable," she murmured, drowsily. +</p> + +<p> +Before long Mrs. Farrant and Adela were +summoned, and Ellis too came in, and kissed +the little worn face, and poor Waif crept after +them all, Donovan lifting him up that Dot's +hand might stroke his head for the last time. +</p> + +<p> +By-and-by the room was quiet again, only +Donovan, the two nurses, and the doctor stayed +to watch the end. The perfect silence was at +last interrupted, a sudden shiver passed through +the little wasted form. +</p> + +<p> +"I am so cold, Dono," she murmured, moving +her hands nervously about the coverlet, "put +your arm round me again; oh! it is getting +so dark, hold me, Dono, hold me! Is it wrong +to be so frightened?" +</p> + +<p> +"I am holding you, darling," he replied, +"there is nothing to fear." +</p> + +<p> +But the words died from his cold lips as he +uttered them, he felt that he could not comfort +her, that she was beyond his help; and her next +words seemed to pierce his heart. +</p> + +<p> +"I can't feel your arms, Dono, I can't see you." +</p> + +<p> +A stifled moan escaped him, he bent low over +her, and again and again kissed her cold damp brow. +</p> + +<p> +"I did not mean to vex you, darling," she +gasped, "it will be better soon, perhaps. Say +me the hymn about the light." +</p> + +<p> +He repeated Newman's "Lead, kindly Light," +which, for some unknown reason, had always +been a great favourite with Dot, he knew it +perfectly well, and would, of course, have said +anything to please her, nor did he feel what a +hideous mockery the words were to him, he was +too completely absorbed in thinking of her. +After he had finished the hymn, there was a +long pause during which her breathing became +more and more difficult. Donovan's +whole being seemed to live with each effort, he +too drew each breath slowly and painfully. But +there came a respite before long, the light did +shine through the gloom, and a look of almost +baby-like peace stole over Dot's troubled face. +She did not speak a word, it never had been +her way to say very much, but by-and-by +Donovan overheard faint half-dreamy whispers, and +knew that she was speaking with a little child's +confidence to God. +</p> + +<p> +"You will comfort Dono, won't you, and we +will be all quite happy together." +</p> + +<p> +The words died away into indistinct murmurs, +she sank into a painless, half unconscious state. +</p> + +<p> +It was not till this time that one thought +of himself came to trouble Donovan, but as he +knelt by the bedside, with Dot's head resting +on his arm, as he listened to—almost counted—the +sighing breaths, his desolation broke upon +him. In a few minutes all that to him made +life worth living would have passed away for +ever! Death, to him truly the king of terrors, +was here at the bedside, and he was powerless, +helpless, he could only wait for the grim +unknown to snatch little Dot away—away into a +forever of nothingness! His brain reeled at the +thought, he could not control the shuddering +agony which made his limbs almost powerless +and brought to his strong firm face a pallor +almost as deathly as that of the little dying child. +</p> + +<p> +"You had better rest a minute," said the +doctor. "It is too much for you." +</p> + +<p> +But the thought of losing even one of those +precious last minutes—of resigning his place to +another—seemed intolerable. He signed a +negative with some impatience, raised Dot a +little higher, smoothed back the hair from her +cold forehead, and waited, trying to control the +trembling which might disturb her, to regulate +the half-choked gasping breaths which would +agitate his whole frame. +</p> + +<p> +Then came an unconquerable longing for +one more word from her, one more recognizing +look. The struggle between this desire and his +unwillingness to break in upon the comparative +peace of her last moments grew to anguish; +passionate entreaties rose to his lips, and were +only checked by the fiercest effort of will, wild +impossible longings surged up in his heart, and +above all was a fearful realisation that the time +was short, that minutes, perhaps seconds, were +all that was left to him. +</p> + +<p> +But the spiritual current of sympathy which +had united the two in life was as strong as +ever, they had been all in all to each other, and +even now, in the very moment of death, little +Dot felt instinctively that Donovan wanted her. +</p> + +<p> +Half rousing herself from the state of dreamy +peace she had fallen into, she felt for his face, +drew it nearer to hers, and, with long pauses +between the words, whispered, +</p> + +<p> +"I've asked to be quite near you still. I +think God will let me. He is so very good, +you know—you will know." +</p> + +<p> +That perfect confidence of hers made death +a happy thing. In her untroubled child-like +faith she had no manner of doubt that the +Father who loved them both so dearly would +one day teach Donovan what His love was. +</p> + +<p> +A minute after came a scarcely audible request. +</p> + +<p> +"Kiss me, Dono." +</p> + +<p> +He folded his arms round her, and pressed +his cold lips to hers; in another moment a +shudder passing through the little frame told +him that he was alone in the world. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap12"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XII. +<br><br> +DESOLATE. +</h2> + +<p class="intro"> + Then black despair,<br> + The shadow of a starless night was thrown<br> + Over the world in which I moved alone.<br> + SHELLEY.<br> +</p> + +<p class="intro"> + Truth's golden o'er us although we refuse it.<br> + E. BROWNING.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Great sorrows affect people so differently +that it is often hard to know how to +sympathise with those in trouble, the spoken words +of comfort which may soothe one person may +simply torture another, the reverential silence +congenial to some seems cruelly cold to others. +Grief, too, falls in so many different ways; to +some it comes like a heavy physical blow, the +bitterness of the pain, the shock to the whole +system is so great, that for a time the senses +fail, and a merciful unconsciousness and a faint, +gradual return to life lessen to some extent +the first anguish of suffering. To some sorrow +comes piercingly, their imagination—all their +faculties—seem for the time quickened by the +pain, memories of the past crowd around them, +visions of a barren future stretch out before +their aching eyes, and this in the very first +moments of their sorrow; grief is to them a +sharp-edged sword, laying bare in an instant the very +fibres of their being. +</p> + +<p> +But there are others to whom sorrow comes +in a more awful form, the blow falls on them, +but no momentary unconsciousness comes to their +relief, they do not sink under their load of pain, +but stagger on in dull hopelessness; they may +be spared the sharp realisation of the grief +which pierces the heart, but their case seems +more pitiable; for, instead of struggling from +the depths of woe to calmness and peace, they +labour on with a terrible weight on their hearts, +a weight which numbs the faculties, and crushes +the bearer into "dull despair." And then, as +nature re-asserts herself, and the perceptions +regain their vividness, a fearful re-action sets in, +the despair deepens, the weight of woe becomes +each day heavier to bear; this is the stony +sorrow which human sympathy seems utterly +powerless to reach, and which finds no outlet. +</p> + +<p> +And yet the "All ye that labour and are +heavy laden," has for hundreds of years brought +to the world's Consoler those who are most +borne down—most crushed by their grief. +</p> + +<p> +Donovan knew the invitation well enough, +but these things were to him as "idle tales;" +to his suffering there was no relief because he +would not stretch out his hand to take: he was +as much alone as it is possible for any of us to +be alone. A child may utterly refuse obedience +to its father, may reject all love, in its +ignorance may even refuse to believe in the love. +Strong in its rebellion, it may shut itself away, +bolting and barring the door upon the love that +would seek it out; but, though it may refuse to +remove the barrier, the father is still the father, +and though the child cannot see how true and +real his love is, because of the obstacle it has +with its own hand raised between them, the +strong love will surely never rest until it has +conquered the child, and shown it its mistake; +nor is it ever really alone—the barrier is only a +barrier. +</p> + +<p> +Donovan had thus shut himself into himself; +with the dead calm of a worn-out body and an +utterly despairing heart, he closed the door of +Dot's room behind him, and with slow, dull, +spiritless steps walked along the gallery. Ellis +was standing in the doorway of his dressing-room; +he came forward as his step-son passed, +but the question he would have put died on his +lips as he looked at Donovan's rigid face. He +shuddered as the hollow, unnatural voice uttered +the words he had expected, but had not dared +to ask for—"She is dead!" +</p> + +<p> +Ellis had not very often visited his little +step-daughter's room; every now and then he had +bought some trifling present for her, or had +sent her a message by Donovan, and occasionally +he had spent a few minutes beside her +sofa, partly because he was anxious to keep up +appearances, and wished the household to think +him a worthy successor to Colonel Farrant, +partly because of the real good nature which +still to some extent guided his actions. His +sorrow at her death was more genuine than +might have been expected, and he had enough +sympathy with Donovan not to torment him +with common-place condolences, but to let him +pass by in silence, feeling rightly enough that +he was the last person who could venture to +approach his grief. He waited until the door +of his step-son's room had closed behind him, +spoke a few words to the doctor, and then with +rather hesitating steps went to Adela's room to +tell her the news. At his knock she came to +the door; she was wrapped in her dressing-gown, +and her hair was loose and disordered. +Ellis thought she had never looked so old +before; her greyness and wrinkles, which he +had never noticed, showed plainly enough now +that she was <i>en déshabillé</i>; she looked what in +truth she was, a middle-aged woman, and Ellis, +who could not bear to face the fact that both +he and his sister were no longer young, shivered +a little. Did not each advancing year bring +them nearer to the dreariness of old age, and, +what was worse, nearer to the terrors of death! +Death was an awful thing, and death was in +the house at that very moment. +</p> + +<p> +"What is it?" asked Adela—"is it all over?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, it is over," he replied, gravely. "I +must tell poor Honora. Come with me, Adela; +she is so exhausted, I am half afraid how she +will bear it." +</p> + +<p> +"Other people may be exhausted too," said +Adela, rather sharply. "What has become of +Donovan? He has been in there all night." +</p> + +<p> +"He has gone to his room. I was afraid to +speak to him, he looked—I can't tell you how +he looked. Yes, go to him, if you like, but you +won't do him any good, poor fellow. It must +have been an awful night." +</p> + +<p> +Adela was thoroughly kind-hearted; she +hurried at once towards Donovan's room, not +allowing her natural shrinking from the sight +of pain to hinder her an instant. It was +certainly a relief, when she had received the word +of admittance, to find that no spectacle of +overpowering grief was to meet her gaze. The +room was very cold and almost dark; a faint +glimmer of light from the window, and the +outline of a figure with the head drooped low, +showed her where her cousin was. She groped +her way towards him, her misgivings returning +when he still did not speak or stir. +</p> + +<p> +"Donovan," she said, with quick anxiety in +her tone, "is anything the matter with you? +Are you faint?" +</p> + +<p> +Her words surprised him; he mused over +them half curiously before replying. How +strange it was to be asked if anything were the +matter when he was simply crushed! And yet +perhaps, in a sense, nothing was the matter—nothing +mattered at all now that Dot was dead. +And Dot was dead, she had passed away for ever. +</p> + +<p> +"Donovan," pleaded Adela, "do speak to me—do +break this dreadful silence!" +</p> + +<p> +"She is dead," he replied, slowly, and then +again his head drooped, and there was another +long pause. +</p> + +<p> +The window was wide open. The icy night +air made Adela shiver; she looked from the +faint grey sky to the snowy earth, and then in +despair she looked back to her cousin's face, +which, though indistinctly seen in the dim light, +was evidently as cold and still as marble. The +tears rose to her eyes and overflowed as she felt +her utter powerlessness to relieve that stony +sorrow. A half-stifled shivering sob roused +Donovan at last. +</p> + +<p> +"You are cold," he said, still in the same +terribly hollow voice, and then he moved +forward and shut the window. +</p> + +<p> +She was now so thoroughly frightened by +the strangeness of his manner that she lost all +control over herself, and it was, after all, +Donovan who had to quiet her grief. +</p> + +<p> +"Why do you cry?" he said. "The pain is +over for her, all is over; after all, it is only +ourselves who suffer. One can endure a great +deal, and sooner or later we too shall die +think of the peace of that nothingness!" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, don't say such terrible things!" said +Adela, shuddering and sobbing still more +violently. +</p> + +<p> +"It is my one comfort," he said; "but you, +with the belief you profess, can need no comfort +from such as I—your beautiful legends should +comfort you." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, yes," she answered; "only it is so hard +to be resigned. But, Donovan, I did not mean +to be so weak; I wanted to be of use to you, +indeed I did, and I have worried instead of +comforted you." +</p> + +<p> +"You have been very kind," he said, in a +more natural tone; "but there is only one +comfort, and I have told you what that is." Then, +as she started with a sudden new terror, he +put his cold hand on hers and added, "No, you +need not be afraid; death is the comfort, but I +shall not seek death in the way you fear—that +is a cowardly thing to do. You need not think +I shall try that way to rest." +</p> + +<p> +"But is there nothing I can do for you?" +asked Adela, awed and quieted by his strange +manner. +</p> + +<p> +"I should like you to go to my mother," he +replied, without any hesitation. +</p> + +<p> +Adela looked again at the white, stony face, +but it was perfectly resolute, and she had no +choice but to obey. With a heavy heart she +went to see the other mourner, and tried to +soothe the passionate weeping and bitter +remorse of the mother. +</p> + +<p> +The interview with his cousin had in some +degree roused Donovan; he could not sink back +to the state of lethargy in which she had found +him. His power of realisation had to some +extent returned, and the dead calm gave place +to restlessness. He paced up and down the +room with unsteady steps, then, chafed by the +narrowness of the space, he opened his door +and wandered along the gallery, down the +stairs, and through the deserted rooms below. +Everything had an utterly desolate look; the +faint morning light revealed the drooping +wreaths and decorations, the remains of the +candles, which had guttered down into shapeless +masses of wax, looked grotesquely forlorn, +while the supper-room, with its disordered table +and its profusion of fruit and flowers, was +perhaps the most dreary-looking of all. The effect +of the whole to Donovan seemed simply ghastly; +"The Reel of Tullochgorum" rang in his +ears, recalling all its miserable adjuncts, the +noise of the gay crowd, the scraping and twanging +of the instruments, above all, Dot's cries of +anguish—those heart-piercing cries which were +to haunt him for months. +</p> + +<p> +By-and-by, as the daylight increased, the +household began to stir; a maid-servant came +into the drawing-room and re-arranged and +dusted the furniture, from time to time casting +half timid half compassionate glances at the +restless figure pacing to and fro; doors were +opened and shut, a general sound of sweeping +and moving furniture made itself heard, a +clatter of cups and saucers; bells were rung, +footsteps hurried to and fro; Major Mackinnon's +voice was heard asking for his boots. There +was something awful in this business-like +rebeginning of life. Dot was dead, yet for him +life must go on in the old grooves, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow,<br> + Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The common-place bustle, the vision which +had crossed his mind of the long barren years +became at last intolerable. He hastened up +the stairs once more, and from the force of long +habit found himself on the way to Dot's room. +The blinds were down; the cool green light +quieted his restless impatient movements. He +closed the door, and stole with hushed steps +to the bedside. Then the forlornness of his +grief broke upon him fully. No eager welcome +from the soft, childish voice, no loving look +from the dark eyes, no arms stretched out to +cling round his neck, but only a motionless +silent outline beneath the white sheet. He +could not look at the veiled face, he turned +away and threw himself on the ground in a +terrible, silent agony. +</p> + +<p> +After a time, the quietness of the room began +to influence him. Only a few hours before it +had been the scene of such weary suffering that +the peacefulness of the present could not but +seem doubly striking. The peace of non-existence! +He hugged the thought to his heart, +and in thinking of it forgot for the time his +own pain. Then he slowly dragged himself up, +and kneeling by the bed, drew aside the sheet. +Nothing could have softened his suffering so +completely as the sight which met his gaze. +The beautiful little face seemed only a degree +more pale and waxen than in life; the forehead, +no longer contracted with pain, gleamed white +and serene and starlike; the brown hair lay +lightly on the pillow, the pale still lips smiled, +the tiny thin hands were folded in solemn +repose. How long he knelt silently beside her +he never knew. He was roused at last by old +Mrs. Doery. She came in, wiping her eyes with +her apron, and for a minute stood at the foot of +the bed, watching the two children whom she +had brought up—the dead and the living. +Perhaps the sight of the living one touched +her heart the more keenly, for there was an +unwonted tenderness in her manner as she +addressed him. +</p> + +<p> +"I was looking for you, Mr. Donovan," she +said, putting her hand on his shoulder. "It's +time you took some rest. You must be worn out." +</p> + +<p> +Worn out! Ah! no. How he wished he +had been! But he did not resist her when she +urged him to go to his room. The quiet, +passive, painless state he was in led him to +acquiesce in anything. Later on, Ellis came to +him, offering to see to all the necessary +arrangements; he thanked him quietly, and consented. +Then Adela came and begged him to see his +mother, and he went for a little while to his +mother's room, and described everything which +had happened on the previous night, tranquilly, +almost coldly. So the day passed on, and +night came. The household was still once +more, all were sleeping quietly; only Donovan +lay with wide-open eyes, staring out at the +black night, counting the hours mechanically as +they passed, wondering now and then if he +still lived, if this strange, numb passiveness +were life at all. +</p> + +<p> +The next two days went on in much the +same way. The funeral was to be on the +Saturday; on the Friday morning Donovan's +unnatural calm began to give way. He had +now been four nights without sleep, and the +dull weight, the numbness of stifled pain was +beginning to tell on him. When, on that day, +he went as usual to Dot's room to gaze on the +one sight which had served to comfort him, he +received a sudden shock. The first great beauty +of death had faded gradually, but, as that +morning he gazed down on the tranquil face, +he saw for the first time the faint evidences of +mortality. The sight seemed to pierce his +heart; he rushed away wildly, as though to +escape from his grief; he paced with desperate +steps up and down his room, trying in vain to +forget what he had seen, trying to assure +himself that it would not, could not be. "Dust +thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return." The +bitterness of the verdict was almost +unbearable, for to him the perishable body was +all that was left; unspeakably dear as it must +be to all, it had to him a tenfold preciousness. +His grief bordered so nearly on madness that +everyone began to shrink from him in terror, +and all that terrible day he was alone, now +battling with his anguish, trying in vain to +govern himself—now allowing his crazy sorrow +to drive him as it pleased. At length, +when night was come—the last night before +Dot was to be borne away from him to the +churchyard—he went once more to the death-chamber. +The little white coffin was closed—he +did not regret it; he would not look on her +again, only his frantic pacings to and fro seemed +more bearable in that room than in his own. +Dot's little clock chimed the hours softly in +muffled tones, and each stroke seemed to fall +with knife-like sharpness on his heart. Time +had ceased for her, but for him it went on, +wearily, ceaselessly. That was the only +distinct thought which continually surged in upon +him. "My days go on. My days go on." +</p> + +<p> +At last with a feverish craving for air he +threw open the window, and leaned out into +the cold still winter night. A winding sheet +of snow on the earth, purple black heavens, and +stars shining out gloriously in the frosty +atmosphere met his gaze. All was grand and +peaceful, all contrasted strangely with his mad, +fevered agony. He grew more quiet. Orion +gleamed down on him pityingly, a child's voice +whispered from the past, "He is my very +favourite of all." Were the soft dark eyes +watching him perhaps in his anguish? was the +happy free spirit near him? Would all—every +comfort be denied him because in his ignorance +and self-reliance he refused to believe? +</p> + +<p> +He shut the window once more, stood quietly +for a minute beside the coffin, then stretched +himself out on the hearthrug, and, before the +little clock chimed again, was sleeping +profoundly. The only comfort he was capable of +receiving was given him—a night of unbroken +rest, a short lull from his despair. +</p> + +<p> +That sleep saved him; the terrible strain of +his attendance on Dot, his hopeless sorrow and +long wakeful nights, had brought him to the +very verge of serious illness; when he awoke +late on the following morning, his mind had +recovered its balance, he was sufficiently +strengthened to take up his heavy load of +sorrow and bear it manfully. Ellis and Adela +were unspeakably relieved, when they met him, +to find bow great a change the night had +wrought, the stony want of realisation, the +frenzy of overpowering grief, had given place +to a more natural sorrow, he looked indeed very +much as usual only that all his former +characteristics seemed deepened, the mouth looked a +little more bitter, the eyes more despairing and +contradictory to the rest of the face, the curious +brow had more of what Dot had called its +"battered" look, the whole expression was +sterner and older. +</p> + +<p> +For the first time he came down to breakfast +and took his usual place at the table, perhaps +anxious to face the rest of the party before the +funeral, or with a sort of desire to go through +with everything properly. They were all very +kind to him, there is enough of good in most +people to make them compassionate to great +grief—for a time. As they left the breakfast-room +a servant met them carrying some beautiful +hot-house flowers. +</p> + +<p> +"From Mrs. Ward, sir," she said, putting into +Donovan's hands a card with, "kind enquiries +and sympathy." +</p> + +<p> +He looked at it for a moment, then threw it +aside with bitterness which astonished Adela, +and said in his most chilling tone, +</p> + +<p> +"It is too late now." +</p> + +<p> +"No, I think there will be room," said Adela, +misunderstanding him, "we have a great number +of wreaths, but I think I can arrange these +flowers." +</p> + +<p> +"The world's sympathy!" he replied, bitterly, +clenching and unclenching his hands rapidly, +as was his habit when strongly agitated, "never +to come near her in all those years of suffering, +but to send a showy wreath for her coffin." +</p> + +<p> +"Would you rather they were not used?" +asked Adela, doubtfully. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! let us take what we can get from the +sympathising world," he answered, "rate it at +what it's worth, only don't ask me to be +grateful." And then with a fierce sigh he turned +away. +</p> + +<p> +The day was clear, bright, and frosty, the +little churchyard at Oakdene was crowded with +people, for poor little Dot's death had awakened +sympathy which her life had failed to win; +rumours had got about that the funeral was to +be a choral one, and all the acquaintances of +the Farrants who had been at the interrupted +dance drove to the little country church to +"show their respect" to the dead and the living, +while many of the Greyshot townspeople walked +over either from curiosity, or from that love +of a pathetic sight which is latent in not a few +hearts. +</p> + +<p> +The sun shone brightly down on the snow-covered +graves, on the throng of spectators, on +the clergyman and the choristers, the rays fell +too on the white pall laden with wreaths, on +the black dresses of the mourners, and on +Donovan's stern hopeless face. He would +willingly have dispensed with the service, +which was to him only a mockery, but the +arrangement of all had helped to cheer +Mrs. Farrant, and as long as he could see the last +of the little coffin he was willing that the +others should gratify their taste, and gather +round Dot's grave with prayers and hymns and +flowers. Gravely he followed the choir into +the church, gravely sat in the pew while the +last strains of the hymn were sung; the other +mourners knelt for a minute, he was too honest +to do that, but the consistency of an atheist +rarely receives anything but hard words, and +all the spectators were inexpressibly shocked. +</p> + +<p> +He was far too miserable to notice the looks +of shrinking aversion or righteous indignation +which some of the congregation turned on him +as the procession passed out to the grave, but +just outside the porch, in a momentary pause, +one whispered sentence fell on his ear. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no; atheists are always hard and unfeeling!" +</p> + +<p> +He could not help knowing that the words +bore reference to him; their injustice stung him +a little, and he became conscious that the eyes +turned on him were hostile and unsympathising—became +indeed aware for the first time +that the churchyard was crowded. Well, it +would soon be over. He heard nothing more +till the sound of the earth falling on the coffin +roused him from his own thoughts; then with +a sudden pang and shudder he caught the +words—"Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust +to dust"—and he was one of the "men without +hope." +</p> + +<p> +The people bowed their heads as the clergyman +read the closing prayers, but Donovan, +with a wild look in his eyes, stood erect and +motionless; his one longing was for solitude, +and when, after the benediction, another hymn +was given out, he felt that he could bear up +no longer. Turning rapidly away he strode +through the staring crowd. What did it matter +if his action were misinterpreted? What did +he care if the general sense of decorum was +offended? It mattered little, for whatever he +did was sure to be considered the wrong thing! +"Dust to dust." How the words haunted him! +Oh, to get away somewhere from his anguish—away +from the cruel world with its harsh +judgments, to lose himself in darkness! He +rushed on wildly through the churchyard, past +the long line of carriages, along the snowy road +to the Manor. He was mad enough and miserable +enough for any desperate deed, but whatever +his intentions had been they were frustrated, +for his physical strength gave way; he sank +down exhausted on the floor of a little arbour +in the Manor grounds. +</p> + +<p> +He was roused at length by a soft stir in the +place; then came a low whine, and looking up, +he saw Waif beside him, his round brown eyes +full of tears. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah! you understand, do you, old fellow?" +he exclaimed, faintly. +</p> + +<p> +He allowed the dog to lick his face and hands +for a minute or two, then, as the carriages were +heard in the drive, he started up; he knew that +Dr. L—— and one or two other visitors would +return to lunch, and, though he shrank painfully +from seeing them, he felt that he ought to +go in. Waif's loving devotion had soothed +him. Ashamed of the cowardly longing to end +his life which had almost overmastered him, he +struggled to his feet, patted the dog, and made +his way to the drawing-room, there to do what +he felt to be his duty in the way of talking to +the visitors. Well for the world that it is not +all made up of logically consistent men and +women, well at any rate for the Donovans of +the world that there are children and dumb +animals who love and sympathise without +question, without reservation. +</p> + +<p> +Blessed little Waif! You have done a better +day's work than all the throng of people in the +church and churchyard, you have been the +saving of your master. There is indeed One +</p> + +<p class="t3"> + "Who by low creatures leads to heights of love."<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +So, Waif, take courage and keep your eyes open, +this is your day; men have for the present little +to say to Donovan, they shrink from him: it is +clearly intended that you should see to him, and +in doing so you will be following in the steps +of those other dogs who tended the deserted +beggar as he lay at the rich man's gate. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap13"></a></p> + +<h2> +CHAPTER XIII. +<br><br> +WISHES AND CHESTNUT ROASTING. +</h2> + +<p class="intro"> + The possible stands by us ever fresh,<br> + Fairer than aught which any life hath owned.<br> + * * * * * * * * *<br> + A healthful hunger for the great idea,<br> + The beauty and the blessedness of life.<br> + <i>Gladys and her Island.</i> J. INGELOW.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The school-room at Trenant was quite the +favourite room in the whole house. In +summer time its two French windows, opening +on to the lawn, gave a cool out of door feeling, +and, if you are obliged to spend a lovely June +morning in the house, it is some consolation to +have Nature brought as near to you as possible; +in winter its coziness was admitted by all, its +fireplace was large and burnt better than any +other, its half high brass fender made an +enchanting footstool, its old-fashioned sofa was +exactly the shape which tempts you to curl +yourself up with a story-book and forget the +cold, and its bookshelves contained such a +heterogeneous assortment of volumes that +almost everyone could find something to his +or her special taste. But the time most +favourable of all to the school-room, was the time +known as "blind man's holiday" in the winter; +it had long been the favourite family gathering +place, and on the afternoon of New Year's +day—the same New Year which had brought +sorrow and bereavement to Oakdene Manor—a +very merry party had congregated round the +hearth. In the centre of the group knelt Gladys +with one arm round Jackie to ward off all danger +of fire accidents, and with the other spare +hand distributing smooth, brown, hard-skinned +chestnuts from a bag; the school-boys, home for +their Christmas holidays, sat on the fender +punching holes in the nuts before they were put +down to roast, and Stephen Causton stood, +poker in hand, ready to rake out the lowest bar +of the grate at the last moment. It was what +Gladys called a "toasty" fire, not a blazing one, +but a deep still red one which sent out as much +heat as could possibly be desired, and cast a +rich glow over wall and ceiling, making the +holly wreaths on the picture frames shine out in +bold contrast to the blackness of the shadows, +and adding such lustre to the old green curtains +and furniture, that their faded shabbiness +was no longer noticeable. The faces, too, of the +little group were ruddy in the firelight, and the +golden threads in Gladys' brown hair shone out +brightly as she bent down over the wriggling +struggling Jackie, whose patience was sorely +tried by the slowness with which the chestnuts +roasted. +</p> + +<p> +"We must take some to mother and Aunt +Margaret in the drawing-room," said Gladys; +"how soon will they be ready, Stephen?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not yet; besides, I'm certain my mother +wouldn't touch one," said Stephen, a little +sulkily, "she doesn't understand that sort of +thing." +</p> + +<p> +"My stars! What, not like chestnuts!" +ejaculated Bertie, with raised eyebrows. +</p> + +<p> +Gladys and Stephen laughed a little, it was +not exactly the want of appreciation of chestnuts +which had given the sullen tone to the +assertion; Mrs. Causton's utter contempt for the +things of this world was not a little trying to +her son, and Gladys understood that it was +this in general to which he referred. Certainly +it did seem a pity, she thought, that Aunt +Margaret should speak so very unreservedly, +and often so very inopportunely, about religious +details, and it seemed strange that she did not +notice how it repelled and annoyed her son. +</p> + +<p> +Stephen had left Porthkerran in the previous +October, and was now "walking the hospitals." The +few months of London life seemed already +to have altered him a good deal, he was older, +more decided and opinionated, even—Gladys +fancied—a little less refined than when he left. +But the change which she noticed chiefly in +him was an increased dislike to Mrs. Causton's +peculiar little phrases and her untimely allusions. +His mother worried him, and he allowed this +to appear far too plainly. +</p> + +<p> +"Let us wish over them," said Jackie, +meditatively, "cos you know it's quite the first +time this year we've eaten them." +</p> + +<p> +"I know what the Jackal would wish for," said +Bertie, teazingly, "he'd wish for jam at tea; +wishing's awful bosh, Jackie, you mustn't be +such a baby." +</p> + +<p> +The corners of Jackie's mouth were turned +down ominously, and nothing but Gladys' +promptitude averted a storm. +</p> + +<p> +"Nonsense, Bert, he wouldn't do anything of +the kind; we shall all wish over them, and +Jackie shall have the first that's done, because +he's the youngest; now, Jack, a very wise +wish; what is it to be?" +</p> + +<p> +Jackie thought for the space of thirty +seconds, while he tore open the hot chestnut. +Then with the conscious importance of one who +looks far into the dim future, he announced, +</p> + +<p> +"I wish to be a tiger-hunter in Africa, I shall +not go now, I shall wait till I'm sixteen, then +I shall be a man, and I shall shoot all the +animals, escept a few which I shall catch with +nets, and bling home to keep in the nursely." +</p> + +<p> +This wish excited a good deal of laughter, +for the heroic tiger-hunter of the future had +been known to run away from a good-sized +dog, and the unkind brothers were sceptical as +to the bravery his sixteen years would bring +him; but Jackie gnawed his chestnut contentedly, +and joined in the laughter. +</p> + +<p> +Nor did the wishes of the other boys rival his +in enterprise. Bertie wished to be a sailor like +Dick, with a "jolly lot" of climbing to do. +Harold aspired to an archbishopric, because it +would be "such a lark to be cock of the walk, +and to have a big palace to live in." Stephen +expressed a modest wish to discover something +like the "circulation of the blood," as Harvey +had done, and make himself a name to be +remembered. +</p> + +<p> +Last of all came Gladys' wish, and all eyes +turned upon her as she tossed a chestnut to and +fro in her hands, and thought. At last raising +her face, she said, +</p> + +<p> +"I wish to be like the people in 'Real Folks,' +who got a lot of little children together on +Saturday afternoons, in some great, bad town, +and gave them a 'good time.'" +</p> + +<p> +"Dirty little children—ugh!" exclaimed +Bertie, in disgust. +</p> + +<p> +"Beastly!" said the archbishop of the future, +laconically. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! if you want dirty children," said +Stephen, "come to Lambeth. You'll see a +goodish few there." +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke the door was opened by Mrs. Tremain. +</p> + +<p> +"All in the gloaming," she said, brightly. +"I told Aunt Margaret we should most likely +find you here; what a delicious smell of +roasting!" +</p> + +<p> +"It's chestnuts, mammy," shouted Jackie, at +the top of his voice, as he dragged his mother +to a chair, and took up the position on her knee +to which, in Nesta's absence, his right was +indisputable. "Mammy, do eat this one, it's such +a beauty." +</p> + +<p> +"Aunt Margaret, do you like this low chair?" +said Gladys, as Mrs. Causton joined the group +gathered round the fireplace. +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you, my dear, no, I think I will sit +at a little distance, as I must face the cold +outside in a minute, it is well not to enjoy too much +of the warmth. You have a very large fire." +</p> + +<p> +This last sentence had something of reproach +in it, and it stimulated Stephen to a quick +rejoinder. +</p> + +<p> +"Prime, isn't it." +</p> + +<p> +"Still," continued Mrs. Causton, "in such a +severe winter it seems almost incumbent on one +not to be too lavish in the coals which are so +much needed by the poor." +</p> + +<p> +"It doesn't make the poor people any warmer +for us to be cold," said Stephen, with a +suppressed growl. +</p> + +<p> +"Nurse always makes up big fires," said +Gladys. "She says it's more economical than +always feeding a little one. Won't you have a +chestnut, auntie?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, thank you, my dear. It is not more than +two hours till dinner time, and I do not think +it well to eat between meals." +</p> + +<p> +The chestnut-eaters, conscious of a wicked +enjoyment, munched on in silence, the idea of a +possible abolition of all promiscuous and +informal "feedings" between meal times was not to +be tolerated for an instant. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Tremain changed the subject. +</p> + +<p> +"And you really go back to London to-morrow, +Stephen? You have had a very short +holiday." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; still a few days is better than nothing," +he answered, tilting his chair backwards and +forwards. +</p> + +<p> +"I only hope, Stephen, that you'll work well," +said his mother, anxiously. "These long winter +evenings are excellent for reading." +</p> + +<p> +Stephen yawned. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you like your lodgings?" asked Mrs. Tremain. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! they're awfully dull," said Stephen. +"Still they're near the hospital, and that's a +great thing." +</p> + +<p> +"And your landlady seems a thoroughly nice +woman," said Mrs. Causton, who had taken the +rooms herself, and had been favourably +impressed by the four large family Bibles placed +as ornaments on the conventional lodging-house +drawing-room table, as well as by the +conversation of the landlady. +</p> + +<p> +"She's well enough," said Stephen, "when +she's sober." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Causton lamented the deceitfulness of +appearances, and said she would look out a +tract which Stephen could give to the poor +woman. The younger boys, wearying of this +talk, began to grow noisy, and it was a relief to +everyone, including Stephen, when Mrs. Causton +said it was time for them to go home. +</p> + +<p> +When Gladys came back to the school-room, +after seeing the last of the two visitors, she +found her mother alone; the children had +dispersed to their play, and Mrs. Tremain sat +silently by the fire, which had now sunk rather +low. +</p> + +<p> +"A few more coals, I think, dear," she said, +as Gladys closed the door and hurried towards +the hearth, "and then, as the room is quiet, I +want to have a little talk with you." +</p> + +<p> +Gladys put on the coals quickly; her mother's +tone had made her feel a little anxious, for +though their "talks" together were many, they +were not generally spoken of beforehand in this +way. Was there some new arrangement to be +made, some difficulty to be discussed? Could +there be bad news from Dick? Gladys tormented +herself with a variety of suppositions, +and lifted up such an anxious face to her +mother that Mrs. Tremain could not help smiling. +</p> + +<p> +"Did my voice sound so very serious," she +said, "that you conjure up all sorts of evils in +a minute?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! mother, how did you know I had?" +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Tremain smoothed the anxious, questioning +forehead by way of reply, then she began, +without further delay, to relieve her child's mind. +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing is wrong at all, dear; but your +Aunt Margaret has been talking this afternoon +to your father and me. You know that she has +taken a little villa at Richmond for the next +six months; she wants to be nearer Stephen, +and, though she cannot live in London, she +thinks that, if she were there, Stephen could +spend his Sundays with her. But she dreads +the loneliness very much, and cannot bear the +thought of settling down by herself in a strange +place. She is very anxious, dear, that you +should go with her for a time." +</p> + +<p> +Poor Gladys' heart sank; that indefinite +expression, "a time," rang unpleasantly in her +ears, and the thought of being weeks, or perhaps +months, away from home, was terrible to her. +Then, too, though she was fond of Mrs. Causton, +she was often a good deal annoyed by her +peculiarities; and if these were noticeable in +the sort of intercourse which they had had at +Porthkerran, what would they not be in the +close intercourse of daily companionship? It +was in rather a choked voice that she asked, +after a pause, +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Must</i> I go, mother?" +</p> + +<p> +"It is, of course, dear, for you to decide," +said Mrs. Tremain. "If you feel very strongly +against it, we should not think of sending you." +</p> + +<p> +"But you wish me to go," said Gladys, a +little resentfully, feeling, too, that the very fact +of having the matter left in her own hands +hardly gave her the choice of doing as she +wished; she could not deliberately choose for +herself the easy, comfortable, home-keeping +path which she longed to take. +</p> + +<p> +"That is hardly a fair way of putting it," +said Mrs. Tremain. "For ourselves, darling, +of course we want to keep you; for Mrs. Causton's +sake and your own, I should like you to go." +</p> + +<p> +"For my own!" exclaimed Gladys, greatly +surprised. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, quite for your own, dear; you have +scarcely ever been away from home, and it is +time that you should see a little more of life; +the change will be good for you in every way. +I think it will help to widen you." +</p> + +<p> +"You think me narrow-minded?" said Gladys, +pouting. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, dear, I do—a little," said Mrs. Tremain, +laughing. "I don't think you have much sympathy +with people you don't agree with, and +the best cure for that will be to get out of the +old grooves for a little time." +</p> + +<p> +"But you surely don't want me to learn to +think differently, and to come home again not +agreeing with you and papa?" questioned +Gladys. +</p> + +<p> +"No, certainly not; that would not be growing +wider, only shifting your narrowness in a +new direction." +</p> + +<p> +"But Aunt Margaret is the narrowest person +imaginable," said Gladys, perversely. "I shall +only grow like her." +</p> + +<p> +"I think not," said Mrs. Tremain; "you +would more likely be driven to the opposite +extreme. But that is not exactly what I want; +I want you to learn to see her real goodness, +and to sympathise with that, trying to pass +over the little things which annoy you. +Besides, you will see other people; the world of +Richmond is larger than the world of Porthkerran." +</p> + +<p> +Gladys was not convinced all at once, but +before many days had passed her decision was +made. Home was to be renounced for six long +months, and a new phase—not the least +arduous—of her education was to be begun under +Mrs. Causton's guidance. +</p> + +<p> +Her stay at Richmond was certainly productive +of some good results. Stephen found his +home visits attractive, and never failed to +appear on Saturday afternoons. Mrs. Causton +thoroughly enjoyed her bright cheerful +companion, and Gladys herself, in spite of +unconquerable home-sickness, found much that was +pleasant in her new life, and for many reasons +never in after-years regretted the decision she +had made. +</p> + +<p> +She saw then, with the strange thrill of joy +and wonder which such realisations bring, that +on this decision and on this visit to London +hinged almost all that was most dear to her in +the future, and that, unconsciously, she had +then taken the first step towards the attainment +of her wish over the chestnut-roasting. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t4"> +LONDON: PRINTED BY DUNCAN MACDONALD, BLENHEIM HOUSE. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br><br></p> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78456 ***</div> +</body> + +</html> + diff --git a/78456-h/images/img-cover.jpg b/78456-h/images/img-cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5396124 --- /dev/null +++ b/78456-h/images/img-cover.jpg |
