Chapter Fifteen.
A Bit of the Blarney
“With him there rode his sone, a younge squire,
A lovyere and a lusty bachelere.”
In that year Easter fell very late, and it was nearly the end of April before the Lesters gathered together once more at Oakby. Alvar and Virginia had hardly had time to grow accustomed to their new relations to each other before the former went to London, where he perhaps adapted himself more easily to his surroundings than he would have done in the presence of his father and brothers. He found that all English people did not regard life precisely from the Oakby point of view; that Lady Cheriton greatly regretted that Nettie was such a tomboy, and almost feared that Bob would never be fit for polite society.
He was introduced to people who thought his music enchanting and his foreign manners charming; he was allowed to be on cousinly terms with the Miss Cheritons, and was an object of exciting interest to every young lady who met him. Under these circumstances he was very well content, and despatched graceful and tender letters to Virginia, which often had an amusing naïveté in their details of his impressions of English life. He also sent her various offerings, ornaments, sweetmeats, and flowers, always prettily chosen, and commended to her notice by some pleasant bit of tender flattery. His engagement was of course generally known, but his soft words and softer looks, though too universal to be delusive, were doubtless none the less attractive from the fact that his foreign breeding offered a constant cause and excuse for them.
Virginia, on her side, it need hardly be said, wrote him many letters, full of thoughts, feelings, and hopes, and sometimes requests for his opinion on any subject that interested her. Alvar’s replies were so charming, so flattering, and so tender, that she hardly found out that they were in no sense answers to her own.
He made a very great point of going to Oxford, and was full of excitement at the prospect of meeting “my brother” again. Cheriton, however, had lost some time by his idle Christmas vacation, and was forced to work very hard to make up for it. He had always too many interests in life to make it easy to concentrate all his efforts in one direction; but now the ambition and love of distinction that were a constant stimulus to the idle Lester nature in himself and Jack were fairly alight.
Cheriton cared for success in itself; he was too sweet-natural to resent failure, and conscientious enough to know that his love of triumph might be a snare to him, but each object in its turn seemed to him intensely desirable. He could not feel, and even prevailing fashion made it difficult for him to affect, indifference. Besides, he wanted to appear in the light of a young man likely to succeed in life before Ruth’s relations. So he wrote that he hoped Alvar would not think it unkind if he asked him to pay him only a short visit; and Alvar was half consoled by hearing the Judge speak in high terms of his nephew as a brilliant young man and likely to do them all credit.
“Ah,” said Alvar, “I fear I should have done my name no credit if I, like my brother, had gone to Oxford.”
“You are an eldest son, my dear fellow, and I don’t doubt that you would have kept up the family traditions,” said Judge Cheriton drily.
So Alvar went for one day to Oxford, where he showed an overpowering delight at seeing Cherry again, and a reprehensible preference for pouring out to him his various experiences, to inspecting chapels and halls. He greeted Buffer respectfully, and taxed Cheriton with overworking himself. He looked pale, he said, and thin – not as he did at Oakby.
Cherry only laughed at him, but insisted emphatically that he should say no word at home of any such impression, as perhaps he should stay up and read during the Easter vacation.
“But what shall I do,” said Alvar, “when the boys, who do not like me, come home, and you are not there?”
“You – why, you will be all day at Elderthwaite.”
“I shall never forget my brother who was kind to me first,” said Alvar earnestly.
Alvar finished up his London career by going to see the Boat Race, where he was exceedingly particular to appear in Oxford colours, and felt as if the triumph of the dark blue was Cherry’s own.
Easter week brought unwontedly soft airs and blue skies to Oakby, and, after all, Cheriton himself for a few days’ holiday. Every one rejoiced at the sight of him, though Jack promptly told him that he was very foolish to waste time by coming, and when Cherry owned that he wanted a little rest, grudgingly admitted that he might be wise to take it; then seized upon him, first to discuss with him the work he himself was doing with a view to a scholarship for which he meant to compete at Midsummer; then demanded an immediate settlement, from Cherry’s point of view, of several important and obscure philosophical questions; and finally confided to him a long history of Bob’s scrapes and deficiencies during the past term.
He was so low in the school – he got in with such a bad lot – he ought to leave school and go to a tutor’s. He, Jack, had told him he was going straight to the bad, but had done no good. Would Cherry give him a good blowing-up? Then Mr Lester, having had a letter from the headmaster, wanted to consult him on this very point, as well as to tell him all the story of Alvar’s courtship and his own diplomatic behaviour. Also to regret that Alvar would not take the trouble to understand the details of English law as applied to local matters; could not see why Mr Lester, as a magistrate, was prevented from transporting a poacher for life, or why, as an owner of land, he thought it necessary to be so particular as to the character of his tenants. Then an attempt at peacemaking with and for Bob, which resulted in little more than a persistent growl “that Jack was an awful duffer.”
Altogether the family did not seem in a restful state. Mrs Lester was very indignant because Mrs Ellesmere had observed that Nettie was growing too tall a girl to go about so much by herself. “Who was there that did not know Nettie in all the country-side?” While Bob and Nettie themselves, who usually hung together in everything, especially when either was in trouble, had an inexplicable quarrel, which made neither of them pleasant company for their elders.
Then Mr Lester’s affairs came forward again in the shape of a dispute with one of his chief farmers about a certain gate which had been planted in the wrong place, involving a question of boundaries and rights of way, and engaging Mr Lester in a difference of opinion with a new neighbour, “a Radical fellow from Sheffield,” whom Mr Lester would neither have injured nor been intimate with for the world. Alvar had the misfortune to observe that “he thought it was not worth while to be so distressed about the post of a gate,” an indifference even more provoking than the misplaced ardour of Jack, who had taken upon himself to examine the matter, and believing his father mistaken, thought it necessary to say so, which might have been passed over as a piece of youthful folly, if there had not been a frightful suspicion that Mr Ellesmere was of the same opinion.
Cherry had heard enough of the “post of a gate” by the time he had read half-a-dozen letters of polite indignation, and listened to an hour’s explanation from his father of the grounds of the dispute, after which he was requested to form an independent opinion on the subject.
“Well, father,” he said, looking askance at a plan of the scene of action which Mr Lester had drawn for his benefit, “it seems that the removal of this gate has mixed up Ashrigg, Oakby, and Elderthwaite to such a degree that we sha’n’t know who is living in which. Of course Alvar can’t see any boundaries between Oakby and Elderthwaite just now. How should he? His imagination leaps over them at once. But I don’t think it will ‘precipitate the downfall of the landed gentry,’ Jack, whichever way it is settled.” And having thus succeeded in making his father and Alvar laugh, and Jack remark “that he never could see the use of making a joke of everything,” he asked Mr Lester to come and show him the fatal spot. Couldn’t they ride over and look at it?
“And I have never seen you yet,” said Alvar reproachfully, when Mr Lester had acceded to this arrangement.
“But you are going to Elderthwaite? I will come and meet you there. And, look here, the weather is so fine I am sure we might all join forces and make an excursion somewhere. Wouldn’t that be blissful?”
“Ah, you make sport of me!” said Alvar; but he promised to propose the plan at Elderthwaite.
So Cheriton and his father rode through the bright spring lanes together, like Chaucer’s knight and squire, with the larks singing in the furrows, and the blue sky overhead, the sunshine full of promise and joy, even in the wild, bleak country, whose time of perfection never came till the purple heather clothed the bare moorlands and the summer months had had time to chase away all thought of the long, dreary winter. Every breath of the air of the hill-side was like new life to Cherry.
“It is so delightful to be at home,” he said; “it’s impossible to be very angry about ‘the post of a gate.’”
Perhaps this happy humour contributed no small share towards the harmonious ending of the scene which Cherry described quaintly enough when he presented himself at Elderthwaite in the afternoon. How on arriving at the scene of action they had found Farmer Fleming and the fellow from Sheffield both engaged in discussing the point; how Mr Wilson had expressed his readiness to put up two gates if that would settle the matter, but he could not be dictated to on his own land; how Mr Fleming’s view of the matter seemed to consist in a constant statement of the fact that he had been the squire’s tenant all his life, and his father before him; how the squire had remarked that Mr Fleming’s father, he was sure, would have known well that those four feet of land were common land, and half in Oakby and half in Ashrigg parish, Elderthwaite bordering them on the south, and that he, as Lord of the Manor, could not allow them to be enclosed; Mr Wilson had purchased certain manorial rights in Ashrigg parish; they certainly extended over the two feet on his own side of the lane.
Then Cherry had remembered Mr Wilson’s son at Oxford, and knew that last year he had taken a first. He had met him at breakfast; was he coming down soon? This had created a diversion; and while the squire and his tenant were at it hammer and tongs, Cherry had received several invitations, had warmly applauded Mr Wilson’s remark that he did not wish to be unpleasant to old inhabitants on first coming into the county, and the squire, having got his own way with the farmer, an amicable arrangement was arrived at; while Cherry went to see Mrs Fleming’s dairy, “because he remembered how she used to give him such beautiful new milk.”
“Oh, Cherry, you have more than a bit of the blarney,” said Ruth. “Haven’t you a drop of Irish blood somewhere?”
“No more than Jack,” said Cherry, who was perhaps a little pleased at his diplomacy. “I like to smooth things down, unless, to be sure, one is angry oneself.”
“You are always the peacemaker,” said Alvar.
“Ah, not always, I am afraid! But now I want all the blarney I can muster to persuade you that it is warm enough to go and spend the day at Black Tarn. We might go by train from Hazelby to Blackrigg; have lunch at the inn there, and go up to Black Tarn by the Otter’s Glen. I asked Mr and Mrs Ellesmere, and they will come with us” – to Virginia – “I assure you Alvar agrees.”
“You are wasting your blarney,” said Virginia smiling, “for we had agreed to go before you came. It will be very cold up at Black Tarn, but that will not signify if we take plenty of wraps.”
Such a genuine piece of natural and innocent amusement was quite a novelty at Elderthwaite, and the boys were delighted. The party agreed to meet at Hazelby station, and go by train some ten or twelve miles towards the mountains on the outskirts of which Black Tarn lay. There was a train in the evening by which they could return, and no one left at home was to be anxious about them until they saw them coming back.
Chapter Sixteen.
The Otter’s Glen
“An empty sky, a world of heather,
Purple of foxglove, yellow of broom,
We two among them, wading together,
Stepping out honey, treading perfume.”
There was hardly a lonelier spot in all the country round than the little Black Tarn. The hill in which it lay possessed neither the rocky grandeur nor the fertile beauty of the neighbouring mountains; it was covered with grass and bog, not a tree relieved its desolateness, no grey rocks pushed their picturesque heads through the soil and gave variety to its shape. The approach to the little lake was defended by great beds of reeds and rushes, its waters were shallow, and later in the year full of weeds and water-lilies. But there was a fine view of the heathery backs of some of the more important mountains, and the stream that rushed down the Otter’s Glen was broad and clear, and had been the scene of many an exciting chase in grey misty mornings.
To-day the sun was bright and strong, the fresh mountain wind intensely exhilarating, and the whole party were in the highest spirits and ready to enjoy every incident of their excursion. They had had their lunch, as proposed, at the little wayside inn, where the Lesters were well known and always welcome, and had then set off on their three-miles walk to the tarn in scattered groups, all at their own pace and with different views of the distances they meant to effect.
A large division, headed by Mr Ellesmere, had started off at a brisk pace, intending to get to the top of the hill and see half over the country, but stragglers began to drop behind.
Mrs Ellesmere thought the tarn would be enough for herself and her younger children; every one dropped off from Alvar and Virginia, and left them to their own devices, while Cherry set himself to persuade Ruth that the best thing to do was to follow the stream, step by step, along its winding course, heedless of the end.
He could hardly believe in his own good luck as the voices of the others died away in the distance, and Ruth put her hand into his to be helped along the slippery stepping-stones planted here and there on the marshy path-way.
Whatever was missing for Ruth in the perfection of the day’s pleasure, her great dark eyes were bright and soft, and a little flush on her brown cheeks gave her an additional beauty. She wore a small closely-fitting hat with a red plume in it, and a tight dark dress; and thus, with her hand in his, and her bewitching eyes raised to his face, her image recurred to him in after days.
He had been laughing, and talking, and managing the expedition, but now alone with her he fell silent, and there was that in his face as he looked down at her that frightened Ruth a little.
During these past months he had grown less “boyish,” and it crossed Ruth’s mind to wonder if he had had any special purpose in getting her to himself.
“And have you been working very hard?” she said, smiling at him.
“Pretty well,” answered Cherry. “I shall be glad when it’s all over.”
“Won’t they ring all the bells at Oakby?”
Cherry laughed.
“I hope they won’t have occasion to toll them,” he said; “it seems sometimes much more likely.”
“Ah! that is because you get out of spirits. And after all, who cares except a lot of stupid old tutors?”
“I don’t suppose you – any one, would care much.”
“Why,” said Ruth dexterously; “who judges a man by the result of an examination? that would be very unfair.”
“Then,” said Cherry shyly, “if I come to grief I shall go to you for – for consolation. You won’t despise me?”
“Oh, Cherry! I am sure when one knows life one sees that after all those tests are rather childish. I should not think less of you if you made a mistake.” Perhaps it was characteristic of Cheriton that he felt more than ever resolved to attain success, and he answered, —
“You ought to think less of me if I did not do my best to avoid mistakes.”
“Now that is worthy of Jack, of whom I am becoming quite afraid. I care for my friends because – well, because I care for them, and what they do makes no difference.”
“That,” said Cherry, “is the sort of backing up that would make a man able to endure failure till success came. But still one must wish to bring home the spoils!”
There was a dangerous intensity in Cheriton’s accent, and Ruth laughed gaily.
“Of course, men are always so ambitious. Well, I believe in your spoils, Cherry, but don’t work too hard for them. Don Alvar told Virginia you would knock yourself up.”
“Oh, Alvar! Hard work is a great puzzle to him. No fear of my working too hard, I get stupefied too quickly, otherwise I should not be here now; but I can’t grudge what is so – so delightful. Take care, that is a very slippery stone. Won’t you give me your hand? There, that’s a safe one.”
Ruth was not a great adept at scrambling independently, but she knew how to be helped with wonderful grace and gratitude. Nor was a solitary ramble with Cheriton at all an unnatural thing. He had helped her up in many a difficult place in their boy-and-girl days, and teased her by pretending that he would not help her down; but now she felt that in more senses than one she was treading on slippery ground, and guided the conversation on to the safer topic of Alvar and Virginia.
“Weren’t you very much surprised,” said Cheriton, “when that came about?”
“Well, you know,” said Ruth, “Virginia is rather transparent. I couldn’t help guessing that she was interested in your brother. She is so romantic, too, and he is such a cavalier.”
“I suppose you always study common sense,” said Cherry, who preferred greatly to talk about Ruth herself than to discuss Virginia.
“I have my own ideas of romance,” said Ruth; “but I think I have outgrown the notion that every one ought to look like a hero.”
“And what is your idea of romance?” asked Cherry, gratified by this remark.
“Self-devotion,” said Ruth briefly, giving up everything for the one object. “That’s true romance.”
“Self-sacrifice?” said Cherry. “That is too hard work to be romantic about.”
“Not for any one – anything one loved,” said Ruth very low, but with flushing cheeks.
“Then,” said Cheriton, “there would be no other self left to sacrifice.”
Ruth was startled. Rupert had never so answered her thoughts, had never given her quite such a look.
Cherry paused and turned round towards her with a desperate impulse urging him to speak, her face shining with enthusiasm giving him sudden courage.
“Ah!” exclaimed Ruth, springing across on to a very unsteady stone, “you are getting too serious! I declare, there’s a white butterfly, the first for the year. And look – oh, look, Cherry, isn’t that bit of gorse pretty against the sky? It’s too bad to discuss abstract questions at a picnic on a spring day.”
Cheriton stood still for a moment. He heard the rush of the water, he saw the shine of the sun, his eyes followed the butterfly as it fluttered up to the bit of yellow gorse, he could see Ruth smiling and graceful, beckoning to him to follow her; the glamour and dazzle had passed, and the day was like any other fine day now.
“I did not mean to discuss abstract questions,” he said, with a touch of offence.
“Ah! but you were getting very deep! Come, don’t be cross, Cherry; you look exactly like Jack at this minute, and you can’t make your eyebrows meet, so don’t try.”
“Poor Jack, you are very hard on him,” said Cherry, recovering himself. “Will you have a bit of the gorse for your hat, if I cut all the prickles off?”
“If you cut all the prickles off, what will you leave?” said Ruth.
They had a very charming walk after this, and were much more merry and talkative than at first. There was a sense of being baffled deep down in Cherry’s heart, but if the rest was surface work it was very enchanting, and they dawdled and chattered till the time slipped away, and they saw their party in the distance coming back from the tarn.
“Oh, let us run,” said Ruth, “and get into the road before them.”
“Come,” said Cherry, holding out his hand, and they ran across the short turf, the sweet, keen air blowing in their faces, a sort of excitement urging Ruth, who was a lazy little thing usually, to this childish proceeding.
They came running down into the road just as the whole party came back from the tarn, crying out on them for their laziness.
“We have been looking for you,” said Virginia, whose hat was daintily wreathed with stag moss. “Alvar and I tried to find you.”
“Oh, yes, you were miserable without us of course,” said Cherry. “Hallo, Rupert! where on earth did you spring from?”
“I came over for a ball at the Molyneuxes; they have taken Blackrigg Hall, you know. I must get back by the first thing to-morrow. I heard of your picnic from some of the people about, and came to see if I could fall in with you.”
“You are just in time to come back with us to the inn,” said Mr Ellesmere; “we shall have no more than time to get a cup of tea and be off for the train.”
“I thought you would not come,” whispered Ruth to Rupert as they all walked back together.
“So it seemed; what were you doing with Cherry?” said Rupert sharply.
Ruth looked at him with reproach in her eyes, but they had no chance then of obtaining private words. Rupert looked savage, but directed his efforts to sitting next her in the omnibus which was to convey most of the party to the station.
“Don’t spoil these few minutes,” whispered Ruth imploringly as she looked up in his displeased face. “Could I let people guess how I was longing for you? I thought you would have been here sooner.”
“Cherry is always to the fore,” said Rupert with an amount of ill-temper for which Ruth could not quite account. She felt profoundly miserable, so wretched that she could hardly keep the tears out of her eyes. She had looked forward for the last day or two to this poor little meeting as such a light in the darkness, and now some one spoke to Rupert and some one else to herself. There was no chance of making it up – if they were to part so! Oh, it was hard! Virginia could say as much as she liked to her lover. Then Ruth saw that Alvar was not in the omnibus, nor Cheriton either, and hoped that the latter fact might assuage Rupert’s jealousy. Perhaps he felt ashamed of it, for as they neared Blackrigg she felt his hand clasp hers, and he whispered, “Forgive me.”
In the meanwhile Cheriton, having lingered a moment to make payments and final arrangements, was left for the “trap,” a very nondescript vehicle, which had brought Bob and Jack from the station. To his surprise he found that Alvar instead of one of the younger ones was his companion.
“Why, how’s this?” he said.
“I thought that I would wait for you. Is it not my turn?” said Alvar, who sometimes liked to claim an equality with the others.
“I’m afraid you’ll get wet,” said Cherry; “they’ve all the plaids, and it is going to rain. These mountain showers come up so quickly.”
“I do not mind the rain,” said Alvar. Cheriton, however, mindful of Alvar’s short experience of the cold, driving rain of the country, made him put a dilapidated rug that was in the carriage over his shoulders, and drove on as fast as he could, through mist and wind, till about half-way to Blackrigg there was a great jolt, – off came the wheel of the trap, which turned over, and they were both thrown out on to the high bank beside the road.
Cherry felt Alvar’s arm round him before he had time to get up, and heard him speaking fast in Spanish, and then, “You are not hurt, my brother?”
“Oh, no – no. Nor you? That’s all right; but we’re in a nice fix. No getting to Blackrigg to-night. Here’s the wheel off.”
The bank was soft and muddy; and they were quite unhurt, and after a minute, Cherry hailed a man passing by, and asked him to take the horse back to the inn, proposing to Alvar to try to catch the train at Stonybeach, an intermediate station, to which he knew a short cut.
“Can you make a ran for it?” he said.
“Yes – oh, yes, I can run,” said Alvar. “This is an adventure.”
It was such a run across country as reminded Cheriton of his days of paper-chases, and was probably a new experience to Alvar, who remarked breathlessly, as they neared the station, —
“I can run – when it is necessary; but I do not understand your races for amusement.”
Cheriton made no answer, as they entered the station and found that after all a neighbouring market had delayed the train, and that they had still some minutes to wait.
“That’s too bad,” said Cherry, as strength and breath fairly failed him, and he sat hastily down on a bench, to his own surprise and annoyance, completely exhausted.
“All! you are too tired!” exclaimed Alvar, coming to him; and with a kindness and presence of mind for which few had given him credit, he made Cherry rest, and got the porter to fetch some water for him (the little roadside station afforded nothing else), till after a few minutes of dizzy faintness and breathlessness, Cherry began to revive into a state of indignation with himself, and gratitude to his brother, the expression of which sentiments Alvar silenced.
“Hush! I will not have you talk yet! You must rest till the train comes. Lean back against me. No – you have not made a confounded fool of yourself, when you could not help it.”
“I suppose the fall shook me,” said Cherry, presently. “Hark! there is the train. Now, Alvar, don’t you say a word of this. I am all right now.”
He stood up as the train came creeping and groaning into the station, and Jack made signs to them out of the window. The train was crowded, and the rest of the party were farther back. Jack exclaimed at their appearance, and while they were explaining their adventure, Alvar got some wine for Cheriton out of a hamper that had been brought for the luncheon.
“Why, Alvar, you are more than half a doctor,” said Cherry, as he took it. “I’m all right again now.”
Jack scanned him a little anxiously. “You had no business to be knocked up,” he said briefly. “You should not have tried to run when you were so out of condition.”
“If I am a doctor, Jack,” said Alvar, “I will not have my patient scolded. He is better now, are you not, Cherito mio? And we are not fit to see the ladies. See, I am covered with mud,” and Alvar endeavoured to brush the mud off his hat, and to make his wet clothes look a little less disreputable.
Cherry put a great coat on, as a measure both of prudence and respectability. He had been desperately desirous of catching the train for the sake of a few more words with Ruth; for on the next day he was obliged to return to Oxford. They were all to part at Hazelby, where their respective carriages awaited them.
Ruth had forgotten his very existence as he hurried up to her in the crowded station; for Rupert had been forced to go on by the train. She remembered now that her walk with him had made Rupert angry, and hardly able to control her voice to speak at all, she wished him a cold, hasty good-night, and sprang into the carriage without giving him time for a word.
Cheriton was both angry and miserable; he stood back silently, while Alvar put Virginia into the carriage, and excused himself gaily for his muddy coat. Dick Seyton ran up at the last minute, and the Lesters set out on their six-miles drive in an open break, under waterproofs and umbrellas, through the pouring rain. The twins disputed under their breath, and Jack lectured Cheriton on the amount of exercise necessary during a period of hard reading.
Cherry, for once, answered him sharply, and Alvar, as was usually the case when his Geschwistern quarrelled, wondered silently, both how they could be so un-courteous to each other, and how they could excite themselves so much about nothing. But there had been something in the manner of his kindness and attention that dwelt pleasantly in Cheriton’s memory of a day which for many reasons he had afterwards cause to look back upon with pain.