CHAPTER XI: PROPOSALS
"Hear me, ye venerable core, As counsel for poor mortals,That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door For glaikit Folly's portals;I for their thoughtless, careless sakes Would here propose defences,Their doucie tricks, their black mistakes, Their failings and mischances."
BURNS.
For seven years Anne Woodford had kept Lucy Archfield's birthdaywith her, and there was no refusing now, though there was more andmore unwillingness to leave Mrs. Woodford, whose declining statebecame so increasingly apparent that even the loving daughter couldno longer be blind to it.
The coach was sent over to fetch Mistress Anne to Fareham, and theinvalid was left, comfortably installed in her easy-chair by theparlour fire, with a little table by her side, holding a hand-bell,a divided orange, a glass of toast and water, and the Bible andPrayer-book, wherein lay her chief studies, together with a littleneedlework, which still amused her feeble hands. The Doctor,divided between his parish, his study, and his garden, had promisedto look in from time to time.
Presently, however, the door was gently tapped, and on her call"Come in," Hans, all one grin, admitted Peregrine Oakshott, bowinglow in his foreign, courteous manner, and entreating her to excusehis intrusion, "For truly, madam, in your goodness is my only hope."
Then he knelt on one knee and kissed the hand she held out to him,while desiring him to speak freely to her.
"Nay, madam, I fear I shall startle you, when I lay before you theonly chance that can aid me to overcome the demon that is in me."
"My poor--"
"Call me your boy, as when I was here seven years ago. Let me sitat your feet as then and listen to me."
"Indeed I will, my dear boy," and she laid her hand on his darkhead. "Tell me all that is in your heart."
"Ah, dear lady, that is not soon done! You and Mistress Anne, asyou well know, first awoke me from my firm belief that I was noneother than an elf, and yet there have since been times when I havedoubted whether it were not indeed the truth."
"Nay, Peregrine, at years of discretion you should have outgrown oldwives' tales."
"Better be an elf at once--a soulless creature of the elements--thanthe sport of an evil spirit doomed to perdition," he bitterlyexclaimed.
"Hush, hush! You know not what you are saying!"
"I know it too well, madam! There are times when I long and wishafter goodness--nay, when Heaven seems open to me--and I resolve andstrive after a perfect life; but again comes the wild, passionatedragging, as it were, into all that at other moments I most loatheand abhor, and I become no more my own master. Ah!"
There was misery in his voice, and he clutched the long hair on eachside of his face with his hands.
"St. Paul felt the same," said Mrs. Woodford gently.
"'Who shall deliver me from the body of this death?' Ay, ay! howmany times have I not groaned that forth! And so, if that Father atTurin were right, I am but as Paul was when he was Saul. Madam, isit not possible that I was never truly baptized?" he cried eagerly.
"Impossible, Peregrine. Was not Mr. Horncastle chaplain when youwere born? Yes; and I have heard my brother say that both he andyour father held the same views as the Church upon baptism."
"So I thought; but Father Geronimo says that at the best it was butheretical baptism, and belike hastily and ineffectually performed."
"Put that aside, Peregrine. It is only a temptation andallurement."
"It is an allurement you know not how strong," said the poor youth."Could I only bring myself to believe all that Father Geronimo does,and fall down before his Madonnas and saints, then could I hope fora new nature, and scourge away the old"--he set his teeth as hespoke--"till naught remains of the elf or demon, be it what itwill."
"Ah, Peregrine, scourging will not do it, but grace will, and thatgrace is indeed yours, as is proved by these higher aspirations."
"I tell you, madam, that if I live on as I am doing now, grace willbe utterly stifled, if it ever abode in me at all. Every hour thatI live, pent in by intolerable forms and immeasurable dulness, themaddening temper gains on me! Nay, I have had to rush out at nightand swear a dozen round oaths before I could compose myself to sitdown to the endless supper. Ah, I shock you, madam! but that's notthe worst I am driven to do."
"Nor the way to bring the better spirit, my poor youth. Oh, thatyou would pray instead of swearing!"
"I cannot pray at Oakwood. My father and Mr. Horncastle drive awayall the prayers that ever were in me, and I mean nothing, eventhough I keep my word to you."
"I am glad you do that. While I know you are doing so, I shallstill believe the better angel will triumph."
"How can aught triumph but hatred and disgust where I am pinneddown? Listen, madam, and hear if good spirits have any chance. Webreak our fast, ere the sun is up, on chunks of yesterday's half-dressed beef and mutton. If I am seen seeking for a morsel not halfraw, I am rated for dainty French tastes; and the same with the soursmallest of beer. I know now what always made me ill-tempered as achild, and I avoid it, but at the expense of sneers on my Frenchbreeding, even though my drink be fair water; for wine, look you, isa sinful expense, save for after dinner, and frothed chocolate for aman is an invention of Satan. The meal is sauced either with blameof me, messages from the farm-folk, or Bob's exploits in the chase.Then my father goes his rounds on the farm, and would fain have mewith him to stand knee-deep in mire watching the plough, or feelingeach greasy and odorous old sheep in turn to see if it be ready forthe knife, or gloating over the bullocks or swine, or exchangingauguries with Thomas Vokes on this or that crop. Faugh! And I amtold I shall never be good for a country gentleman if I contemn suchmatters! I say I have no mind to be a country gentleman, whereby Iam told of Esau till I am sick of his very name."
"But surely you have not always to follow on this round?"
"Oh no! I may go out birding with Bob, who is about as lively as anold jackass, or meet the country boobies for a hunt, and be pointedat as the Frenchman, and left to ride alone; or there's mine ownchamber, when the maids do not see fit to turn me out with theirpails and besoms, as they do at least twice a week--I sit there inmy cloak and furs (by the way, I am chidden for an effeminate fop ifever I am seen in them). I would give myself to books, as my unclecounselled, but what think you? By ill hap Bob, coming in to asksome question, found me studying the Divina Commedia of DanteAlighieri, and hit upon one of the engravings representing thetorments of purgatory. What must he do but report it, andimmediately a hue and cry arises that I am being corrupted withPopish books. In vain do I tell them that their admirable JohnMilton, the only poet save Sternhold and Hopkins that my fatherdeems not absolute pagan, knew, loved, and borrowed from Dante. Allmy books are turned over as ruthlessly as ever Don Quixote's by thecurate and the barber, and whatever Mr. Horncastle's eruditioncannot vouch for is summarily handed over to the kitchen wench tolight the fires. The best of it is that they have left me myclassics, as though old Terence and Lucan were lesser heathens thanthe great Florentine. However, I have bribed the young maid, andrescued my Dante and Boiardo with small damage, but I dare not readthem save with door locked."
Mrs. Woodford could scarcely shake her head at the disobedience, andshe asked if there were really no other varieties.
"Such as fencing with that lubber Robert, and trying to bend hisstiff limbs to the noble art of l'escrime. But that is after dinnerwork. There is the mountain of half-raw flesh to be consumed first,and then my father, with Mr. Horncastle and Bob discuss on what theycall the news--happy if a poor rogue has been caught by TomConstable stealing faggots. 'Tis argument for a week--almost equalto the price of a fat mutton at Portsmouth. My father and theminister nod in due time over their ale-cup, and Bob and I go ourways till dark, or till the house bell rings for prayers andexposition. Well, dear good lady, I will not grieve you by tellingyou how often they make me wish to be again the imp devoid of everyshred of self-respect, and too much inured to flogging to heed
whatmy antics might bring on me."
"I am glad you have that shred of self respect; I hope indeed it issome higher respect."
"Well, I can never believe that Heaven meant to be served by mortaldullness. Seven years have only made old Horncastle blow his hornto the same note, only more drearily."
"I can see indeed that it is a great trial to one used to the lifeof foreign Courts and to interest in great affairs like you, my poorPeregrine; but what can I say but to entreat you to be patient, tryto find interest, and endeavour to win your father's confidence sothat he may accord you more liberty? Did I not hear that yourattention made your mother's life happier?"
Peregrine laughed. "My mother! She has never seen aught butboorishness all her life, and any departure therefrom seems to herunnatural. I believe she is as much afraid of my courtesy as evershe was of my mischief, and that in her secret heart she stillbelieves me a changeling. No, Madam Woodford, there is but one wayto save me from the frenzy that comes over me."
"Your father has already been entreated to let you join your uncle."
"I know it--I know it; but if it were impossible before, thatdiscovery of Dante has made it impossibilissimo, as the Italianwould say, to deal with him now. There is a better way. Give methe good angel who has always counteracted the evil one. Give meMistress Anne!"
"Anne, my Anne!" exclaimed Mrs. Woodford in dismay. "O Peregrine,it cannot be!"
"I knew that would be your first word," said Peregrine, "but verily,madam, I would not ask it but that I know that I should be anotherman with her by my side, and that she would have nothing to fearfrom the evil that dies at her approach."
"Ah, Peregrine! you think so now; but no man can be sure of himselfwith any mere human care. Besides, my child is not of degree tomatch with you. Your father would justly be angered if we tookadvantage of your attachment to us to encourage you in aninclination he could never approve."
"I tell you, madam--yes, I must tell you all--my madness and my ruinwill be completed if I am left to my father's will. I know what ishanging over me. He is only waiting till I am of age--at Midsummer,and the year of mourning is over for poor Oliver--I am sure no onemourns for him more heartily than I--to bind me to Martha Browning.If she would only bring the plague, or something worse thansmallpox, to put an end to it at once!"
"But that would make any such scheme all the more impossible."
"Listen, madam; do but hear me. Even as children the very sight ofMartha Browning's solemn face"--Peregrine drew his countenance downinto a portentous length--"her horror at the slightest word orsport, her stiff broomstick carriage, all impelled me to the mostimpish tricks. And now--letting alone that pock-marks have seamedher grim face till she is as ugly as Alecto--she is a Precisian ofthe Precisians. I declare our household is in her eyes sinfullyfree! If she can hammer out a text of Scripture, and write her namein characters as big and gawky as herself, 'tis as far as hereducation has carried her, save in pickling, preserving, stitchery,and clear starching, the only arts not sinful in her eyes. If I amto have a broomstick, I had rather ride off on one at once to theWitches' Sabbath on the Wartburg than be tied to one for life."
"I should think she would scarce accept you."
"There's no such hope. She has been bred up to regard one of us asher lot, and she would accept me without a murmur if I wereBeelzebub himself, horns and tail and all! Why, she ogles me withher gooseberry eyes already, and treats me as a chattel of her own."
"Hush, hush, Peregrine! I cannot have you talk thus. If yourfather had such designs, it would be unworthy of us to favour you incrossing them."
"Nay, madam, he hath never expressed them as yet. Only my motherand brother both refer to his purpose, and if I could show myselfcontracted to a young lady of good birth and education, he cannotgainsay; it might yet save me from what I will not and cannotendure. Not that such is by any means my chief and only motive. Ihave loved Mistress Anne with all my heart ever since she shone uponme like a being from a better world when I lay sick here. She hasthe same power of hushing the wild goblin within me as you have,madam. I am another man with her, as I am with you. It is my onlyhope! Give me that hope, and I shall be able to endure patiently.--Ah! what have I done? Have I said too much?"
He had talked longer and more eagerly than would have been good forthe invalid even if the topic had been less agitating, and theemotion caused by this unexpected complication, consternation at thedifficulties she foresaw, and the present difficulty of framing areply, were altogether too much for Mrs. Woodford. She turneddeadly white, and gasped for breath, so that Peregrine, in terror,dashed off in search of the maids, exclaiming that their mistresswas in a swoon.
The Doctor came out of his study much distressed, and in Anne'sabsence the household was almost helpless in giving the succours inwhich she had always been the foremost. Peregrine lingered about inremorse and despair, offering to fetch her or to go for the doctor,and finally took the latter course, thereto impelled by the angrywords of the old cook, an enemy of his in former days.
"No better? no, sir, nor 'tis not your fault if ever she be. You'vebeen and frought her nigh to death with your terrifying ways."
Peregrine was Hampshire man enough to know that to terrify onlymeant to tease, but he was in no mood to justify himself to oldPatience, so he galloped off to Portsmouth, and only returned withthe doctor to hear that Madam Woodford was in bed, and her daughterwith her. She was somewhat better, but still very ill, and it wasplain that this was no moment for pressing his suit even had it notbeen time for him to return home. Going to fetch the doctor mightbe accepted as a valid reason for missing the evening exhortationand prayer, but there were mistrustful looks that galled him.
Anne's return was more beneficial to Mrs. Woodford than the doctor'svisit, and the girl was still too ignorant of all that her mother'sattacks of spasms and subsequent weakness implied to be as muchalarmed as to depress her hopes. Yet Mrs. Woodford, lying awake inthe night, detected that her daughter was restless and unhappy, andasked what ailed her, and how the visit had gone off.
"You do not wish me to speak of such things, madam," was the answer.
"Tell me all that is in your heart, my child."
It all came out with the vehemence of a reserved nature when theflood is loosed. 'Young Madam' had been more than usually peevishand exacting, jealous perhaps at Lucy's being the heroine of theday, and fretful over a cold which confined her to the house, howshe worried and harassed all around her with her whims, megrims andcomplaints could only too well be imagined, and how the entirepleasure of the day was destroyed. Lucy was never allowed aminute's conversation with her friend without being interrupted by awhine and complaints of unkindness and neglect.
Lady Archfield's ill-usage, as the young wife was pleased to callevery kind of restriction, was the favourite theme next to thedaughter-in law's own finery, her ailments, and her notions of thetreatment befitting her.
And young Mr. Archfield himself, while handing his old friend out tothe carriage that had fetched her, could not help confiding to herthat he was nearly beside himself. His mother meant to be kind, butexpected too much from one so brought up, and his wife--what couldbe done for her? She made herself miserable here, and every oneelse likewise. Yet even if his father would consent, she wasutterly unfit to be mistress of a house of her own; and poor Charlescould only utter imprecations on the guardians who could have had noidea how a young woman ought to be brought up. It was worse than anill-trained hound."
Mrs. Woodford heard what she extracted from her daughter with griefand alarm, and not only for her friends.
"Indeed, my dear child," she said, "you must prevent suchconfidences. They are very dangerous things respecting marriedpeople."
"It was all in a few moments, mamma, and I could not stop him. Heis so unhappy;" and Anne's voice revealed tears.
"The more reason why you should avoid hearing what he will soon bevery sorry you have heard. Were he not a mere lad
himself, it wouldbe as inexcusable as it is imprudent thus to speak of the troublesand annoyances that often beset the first year of wedded life. I amsorry for the poor youth, who means no harm nor disloyalty, and isonly treating you as his old companion and playmate; but he has noright thus to talk of his wife, above all to a young maiden tooinexperienced to counsel him, and if he should attempt to do soagain, promise me, my daughter, that you will silence him--if by noother means, by telling him so."
"I promise!" said Anne, choking back her tears and lifting her head."I am sure I never want to go to Fareham again while that LieutenantSedley Archfield is there. If those be army manners, they are whatI cannot endure. He is altogether mean and hateful, above all whenhe scoffs at Master Oakshott."
"I am afraid a great many do so, child, and that he often gives someoccasion," put in Mrs. Woodford, a little uneasy that this should bethe offence.
"He is better than Sedley Archfield, be he what he will, madam,"said the girl. "He never pays those compliments, those insolentdisgusting compliments, such as he--that Sedley, I mean--when hefound me alone in the hall, and I had to keep him at bay from tryingto kiss me, only Mr. Archfield--Charley--came down the stairs beforehe was aware, and called out, 'I will thank you to behave yourselfto a lady in my father's house.' And then he, Sedley, sneered 'TheParson's niece!' with such a laugh, mother, I shall never get it outof my ears. As if I were not as well born as he!"
"That is not quite the way to take it, my child. I had rather youstood on your maidenly dignity and discretion than on your birth. Itrust he will soon be away."
"I fear he will not, mamma, for I heard say the troop are comingdown to be under the Duke of Berwick at Portsmouth."
"Then, dear daughter, it is the less mishap that you should be thusclosely confined by loving attendance on me. Now, goodnight.Compose yourself to sleep, and think no more of these troubles."
Nevertheless mother and daughter lay long awake, side by side, thatnight; the daughter in all the flutter of nerves induced by offendedyet flattered feeling--hating the compliment, yet feeling that itwas a compliment to the features that she was beginning to value.She was substantially a good, well-principled maiden, modest anddiscreet, with much dignified reserve, yet it was impossible thatshe should not have seen heads turned to look at her in Portsmouth,and know that she was admired above her contemporaries, so that evenif it brought her inconvenience it was agreeable. Besides, herheart was beating with pity for the Archfields. The elder onesmight have only themselves to blame, but it was very hard for poorCharles to have been blindly coupled to a being who did not know howto value him, still harder that there should be blame for aconfidence where neither meant any harm--blame that made her blushon her pillow with indignant shame.
Perhaps Mrs. Woodford divined these thoughts, for she too meditateddeeply on the perils of her fair young daughter, and in the morningcould not leave her room. In the course of the day she heard thatMaster Peregrine Oakshott had been to inquire for her, and was notsurprised when her brother-in-law sought an interview with her. Thegulf between the hierarchy and squirearchy was sufficient for amarriage to be thought a mesalliance, and it was with a smile at thefolly as well as with a certain displeased pity that Dr. Woodfordmentioned the proposal so vehemently pressed upon him by PeregrineOakshott for his niece's hand.
"Poor boy!" said Mrs. Woodford, "it is a great misfortune. Youforbade him of course to speak of such a thing."
"I told him that I could not imagine how he could think us capableof entertaining any such proposal without his father's consent. Heseems to have hoped that to pledge himself to us might extortsanction from his father, not seeing that it would be a highlyimproper measure, and would only incense the Major."
"All the more that the Major wishes to pass on Mistress MarthaBrowning to him, poor fellow."
"He did not tell me so."
Mrs. Woodford related what he had said to her, and the Doctor couldnot but observe: "The poor Major! his whole treatment of thatunfortunate youth is as if he were resolved to drive him todistraction. But even if the Major were ever so willing, I doubtwhether Master Peregrine be the husband you would choose for ourlittle maid."
"Assuredly not, poor fellow! though if she loved him as he lovesher--which happily she does not--I should scarce dare to stand inthe way, lest she should be the appointed instrument for his good."
"He assured me that he had never directly addressed her."
"No, and I trust he never will. Not that she is ever like to lovehim, although she does not shrink from him quite as much as othersdo. Yet there is a strain of ambition in my child's nature thatmight make her seek the elevation. But, my good brother, for thisand other reasons we must find another home for my poor child when Iam gone. Nay, brother, do not look at me thus; you know as well asI do that I can scarcely look to see the spring come in, and I wouldfain take this opportunity of speaking to you concerning my deardaughter. No one can be a kinder father to her than you, and Iwould most gladly leave her to cheer and tend you, but as thingsstand around us she can scarce remain here without a mother'swatchfulness. She is guarded now by her strict attendance on myinfirmity, but when I am gone how will it be?"
"She is as good and discreet a maiden as parent could wish."
"Good and discreet as far as her knowledge and experience go, butthat is not enough. On the one hand, there is a certain wild temperabout that young Master Oakshott such as makes me never know what hemight attempt if, as he says, his father should drive him todesperation, and this is a lonely place, with the sea close athand."
"Lady Archfield would gladly take charge of her."
Mrs. Woodford here related what Anne had said of Sedley's insolence,but this the Doctor thought little of, not quite believing in theregiment coming into the neighbourhood, and Mrs. Woodford mostunwillingly was forced to mention her further unwillingness that herdaughter should be made a party to the troubles caused by the sillyyoung wife of her old playfellow.
"What more?" said the Doctor, holding up his hands. "I neverthought a discreet young maid could be such a care, but I supposethat is the price we pay for her good looks. Three of them, eh?What is it that you propose?"
"I should like to place her in the household of some godly andkindly lady, who would watch over her and probably provide for hermarriage. That, as you know, was my own course, and I was veryhappy in Lady Sandwich's family, till I made the acquaintance ofyour dear and honoured brother, and my greater happiness began. Thefirst day that I am able I will write to some of my earlier friends,such as Mrs. Evelyn and Mrs. Pepys, and again there is MistressEleanor Wall, who, I hear, is married to Sir Theophilus Oglethorpe,and who might accept my daughter for my sake. She is a warm,loving, open-hearted creature of Irish blood, and would certainly bekind to her."
There was no indignity in such a plan. Most ladies of rank orquality entertained one or more young women of the clerical orprofessional classes as companions, governesses, or ladies' maids,as the case might be. They were not classed with the servants, buthad their share of the society and amusements of the house, and afair chance of marriage in their own degree, though the comfort oftheir situation varied a good deal according to the amiability oftheir mistress, from that of a confidential friend to a white slaveand souffre douleur.
Dr. Woodford had no cause to object except his own loss of hisniece's society and return to bachelor life, after the eight yearsof companionship which he had enjoyed; but such complications aswere induced by the presence of an attractive young girl were, as heallowed, beyond him, and he acquiesced with a sigh in the judgmentof the mother, whom he had always esteemed so highly.
The letters were written, and in due time received kind replies.Mrs. Evelyn proposed that the young gentlewoman should come and staywith her till some situation should offer itself, and LadyOglethorpe, a warm-hearted Irishwoman, deeply attached to the Queen,declared her intention of speaking to the King or the Princess Anneon the first opportunity of the daughter of the
brave CaptainWoodford. There might very possibly be a nursery appointment to behad either at the Cockpit or at Whitehall in the course of the year.
This was much more than Mrs. Woodford had desired. She had farrather have placed her daughter immediately under some kind matronlylady in a private household; but she knew that her good friend wasalways eager to promise to the utmost of her possible power. Shedid not talk much of this to her daughter, only telling her that thekind ladies had promised to befriend her, and find a situation forher; and Anne was too much shocked to find her mother actuallymaking such arrangements to enter upon any inquiries. Theperception that her mother was looking forward to passing away sosoon entirely overset her; she would not think about it, would notadmit the bare idea of the loss. Only there lurked at the bottom ofher heart the feeling that when the crash had come, and desolationhad over taken her, it would be more dreary at Portchester thananywhere else; and there might be infinite possibilities beyond forthe King's godchild, almost a knight's daughter.
The next time that Mrs. Woodford heard that Major Oakshott was atthe door inquiring for her health, she begged as a favour that hewould come and see her.
The good gentleman came upstairs treading gently in his heavy boots,as one accustomed to an invalid chamber.
"I am sorry to see you thus, madam," he said, as she held out herwasted hand and thanked him. "Did you desire spiritualconsolations? There are times when our needs pass far beyondprescribed forms and ordinances."
"I am thankful for the prayers of good men," said Mrs. Woodford;"but for truth's sake I must tell you that this was not foremost inmy mind when I begged for this favour."
He was evidently disappointed, for he was producing from his pocketthe little stout black-bound Bible, which, by a dent in one of thelids, bore witness of having been with him in his campaigns; andperhaps half-diplomatically, as well as with a yearning for onenessof spirit, she gratified him by requesting him to read and pray.
With all his rigidity he was too truly pious a man for hisministrations to contain anything in which, Churchwoman as she was,she could not join with all her heart, and feel comforting; but erehe was about to rise from his knees she said, "One prayer for yourson, sir."
A few fervent words were spoken on behalf of the wandering sheep,while tears glistened in the old man's eyes, and fell fast fromthose of the lady, and then he said, "Ah, madam! have I not wrestledin prayer for my poor boy?"
"I am sure you have, sir. I know you have a deep fatherly love forhim, and therefore I sent to speak to you as a dying woman."
"And I will gladly hear you, for you have always been good to him,and, as I confess, have done him more good--if good can be calledthe apparent improvement in one unregenerate--than any other."
"Except his uncle," said Mrs. Woodford. "I fear it is vain to saythat I think the best hope of his becoming a good and valuable man,a comfort and not a sorrow to yourself, would be to let him even nowrejoin Sir Peregrine."
"That cannot be, madam. My brother has not kept to theunderstanding on which I entrusted the lad to him, but has carriedhim into worldly and debauched company, such as has made the soberand godly habits of his home distasteful to him, and has furthertaken him into Popish lands, where he has become infected with theirabominations to a greater extent than I can yet fathom."
Mrs. Woodford sighed and felt hopeless. "I see your view of thematter, sir. Yet may I suggest that it is hard for a young man tofind wholesome occupation such as may guard him from temptation onan estate where the master is active and sufficient like yourself?"
"Protection from temptation must come from within, madam," repliedthe Major; "but I so far agree with you that in due time, when hehas attained his twenty-first year, I trust he will be wedded to hiscousin, a virtuous and pious young maiden, and will have themanagement of her property, which is larger than my own."
"But if--if--sir, the marriage were distasteful to him, could it befor the happiness and welfare of either?"
"The boy has been complaining to you? Nay, madam, I blame you not.You have ever been the boy's best friend according to knowledge; buthe ought to know that his honour and mine are engaged. It is truethat Mistress Martha is not a Court beauty, such as his eyes haveunhappily learnt to admire, but I am acting verily for his truegood. 'Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain.'"
"Most true, sir; but let me say one more word. I fear, I greatlyfear, that all young spirits brook not compulsion."
"That means, they will not bow their stiff necks to the yoke."
"Ah, sir! but on the other hand, 'Fathers, provoke not your childrento wrath.' Forgive me, sir; I spoke but out of true affection toyour son, and the fear that what may seem to him severity may notdrive him to some extremity that might grieve you."
"No forgiveness is needed, madam. I thank you for your interest inhim, and for your plain speaking according to your lights. I canbut act according to those vouchsafed unto me."
"And we both agree in praying for his true good," said Mrs.Woodford.
And with a mutual blessing they parted, Mrs. Woodford deeply sorryfor both father and son, for whom she had done what she could.
It was her last interview with any one outside the house. Anotherattack of spasms brought the end, during the east winds of March, sosuddenly as to leave no time for farewells or last words. When shewas laid to rest in the little churchyard within the castle walls,no one showed such overwhelming tokens of grief as PeregrineOakshott, who lingered about the grave after the Doctor had takenhis niece home, and was found lying upon it late in the evening,exhausted with weeping.
Yet Sedley Archfield, whose regiment had, after all, been sent toPortsmouth, reported that he had spent the very next afternoon at acock-fight, ending in a carouse with various naval and militaryofficers at a tavern, not drinking, but contributing to the mirth byforeign songs, tricks, and jests.
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