The Pillars of the House; Or, Under Wode, Under Rode, Vol. 2 (of 2)

by Charlotte M. Yonge

  CHAPTER XLIV.

  THE FIDDLER'S RANCH.

  'The _Vater Unser_ that I said Before I went to school, The prayers come ringing in my head Like ripples in a pool.' _Veritas._

  Angela's conversion, as her friends did not scruple to term it, hadthis happy effect at least of extinguishing her passion (if so it mightbe called) for Charles Audley. It was swallowed up in the generalexcitement; and once or twice Cherry had reason to think she hadpersuaded herself that she had voluntarily renounced him among otherearthly vanities, such as her chignon, her church decorations, and herballs.

  If she still felt any jealousy of Stella, it only showed itself in apitiful contempt of the poor little unawakened creature, so contentedlydeluded by ceremonies, and drifting into the jaws of this wicked world;but it was memorable that though she always opposed Stella's opinion,were it only on the weather, she never attacked her direct, norreproached her, probably out of a certain discomfort which the littlemaid's simple answers always gave her.

  Stella was Clement's mainstay this summer in the thousand and oneinconveniences caused him by Angela's conscience in the thousand andone parish affairs in which she used to be his prime helper, but whereshe now disentangled the material and the spiritual, after the exampleof her advisers, though with a sauciness and vexatiousness of whichthey were incapable. Luckily no idea of pining after Charlie seemed tooccur to Stella, and she devoted the time once spent on poor littleTheodore to the many tasks that Angela had left on her hands andconsidered just fit for such a foolish little thing.

  Any secrecy as to the possible relations with Charlie had provedunachievable, at least within the family. Charlie might be banished,but his father carried on the courtship with unblushing assiduity,viewing Stella as his special property, and being never happy withoutseeing her two or three times in a week. In truth, after so many yearsof morbid seclusion, the society of a family home--such as he had neverknown--was so delightful to him, that he could not stay away, andalmost exposed himself to suspicion of being in search more of a wifefor himself than his son.

  The Kittiwake, where never woman had set foot, and where Charlie,in spite of Angela's bantering solicitations, had never ventured toinvite her, was urgently pressed on the whole party for any excursionimaginable; and when it became evident that both the Captain and Stellagreatly wished it, the seniors consented to a day's sail along thecoast, it being decided in council between Wilmet and Cherry that seaair might bring freshness back to Felix's looks.

  The morning was all that could be wished, but the post brought anappointment from a man of business to see the Squire respecting someland which was to be secured in East Ewmouth, for the foundation ofbuildings that might serve to Christianize the straggling populationthere, making a fresh district from both parishes. For it was to thispurpose they had decided to devote the tithes cut off from Vale Leston,since the new tenements actually stood in that parish, and the work athome was now forward enough to enable the extension to be made.

  Great was the lamentation at this inopportune arrival; but Felix ownedhimself glad of it, and did not look equal to a long day's fatigue.Clement also remained to assist at the consultation, and after theconference, walked to the spot with the agent.

  Returning soon after the hour for the second post, Clement wentto the study, where, as he entered, Felix, who was seated at hiswriting-table, lifted up his face from his supporting hand, very pale,and with eyes swimming in tears, but with a look of rest and reliefthat reminded the Vicar of that which had responded to the tidingsthat their little Theodore was beyond the reach of harm. He held upsomething, saying, 'Look!'

  'The photograph of my father.'

  'See there,' pointing to the corner.

  'T.E.U. Edgar's copy! Is he found?'

  'Thank God! There is hope that the lost is found!' He rested hishead against Clement, heaving a mighty irrepressible sob, physicallypainful, but full of relief. Those two had become inexpressibly muchto one another during these four years, and far more during the lastsix weeks.

  'From Travis?' asked Clement presently, observing the handwriting ofthe letter on the table.

  'Yes, good faithful fellow! Would you read it to me, Clem? I cannot geton;' and he cleared his eyes of the blinding tears. 'I could only seethat there was hope at the last.'

  'Of finding him?'

  'Not here. No. He begins by telling us the dear fellow is dead. I thinkit was something violent, and that he tried in vain to save him. Let mehear, that we may see whether there be anything we can spare Cherry.'

  Clement thought Felix even less fit for any shock or agitation than hissister, but he could only make him lie back on his couch, whence hewatched with earnest eyes for every word.

  The narrative is, however, here given more fully than it could bewritten, especially as one portion of the history was reserved forMarilda alone.

  Ferdinand Travis had inherited a considerable claim to mining propertyin the south-eastern portion of California. He had gone to America,intending to dispose of it, but had ended by settling down there,naming it Underwood, and doing his best to exert an influence for goodon the lawless races he found around him. He had enough in common withthem to obtain a partial success where another would have failed; hislittle township was thriving, and to some degree civilized, and hehad even been able to obtain the building of a church and residenceof a clergyman with a kind of mission to the Indians. All around himwas safe and peaceable; but between him and the nearest cities on thePacific lay a tract subject to the forays of a tribe in the tiger stagethat precedes the abject decline of the unhappy red-skins. The districtwas gradually becoming settled, but neither village nor travellerwas secure from horrible raids and savage massacres, and save byletter-carriers, who trusted to speed, the region was seldom traversedexcept by parties numerous enough to protect themselves.

  Such a surveying party Ferdinand had joined, intending to transactsome affairs at San Francisco; and on the third day of his journey,when descending a steep hill-side, the war-shouts of the Indians wereheard, and presently about thirty beplumed and painted savages wereseen evidently triumphing after a victory.

  The travellers scarcely uttered a word, but settled themselves intheir saddles, and drew their revolvers, then charged the foe with thefull impetus of a down-hill gallop. It was the affair of a moment;the Indians threw themselves on their horses and scoured away likethe wind, while the new comers found that they had been exulting overthe slaughter of only two men and one little child, whom they hadbeen proceeding to mangle after the custom of their tribe. One victimwas quite dead, and already scalped and scored; the other, thoughsenseless, stripped, and gashed in many places, was still breathing, aswas the child--a boy of six or seven, though shot through the breast,and the mark of the scalping-knife already begun on his head.

  The keen wiry dauntless fellow, who acted as guide, driving two ofthe party in a much enduring waggon, opined that they came fromFiddler's Ranch, about two miles off, and recognized the living oneas the Fiddler himself--the best company, he guessed, between thisand the Atlantic. It was a service of danger to lift the bodies intothe vehicle, for the Indians might be hovering about in ambush tofall on the rescuers in great numbers; but the transit was safelyperformed; up to the stockade and ditch protecting the township calledFiddler's Ranch, whence issued a population of the rudest description,vituperating the Indians, and bewailing 'poor Tom the Fiddler andlittle Jerry, the smartest, cutest little critter that side of themountains.' 'Pretty nigh gone, stranger; bring him in, lay him by theside of his father; those brutes of Injuns fix their work off toohandsome--best if neither opens his eyes again.'

  A low frame-house, the outer half-store, also post-office, newspaperoffice, photographic studio--such was the place into which the fatherwas carried, Ferdinand following with the child into an inner room,where were some appliances of comfort, a neatly ordered bed, a fewchairs, a table, and some drawings fastened to the wall--among them aphotograph that
arrested Ferdinand's attention. Had he not gazed atthe likeness from his bed in Mr. Audley's room? did he not know it inthe family parlour, and in Clement's cell at St Matthew's? It was thelikeness of Edward Underwood!

  He turned hastily to the bed. Yes, the face, weather-stained yetghastly, overgrown with neglected beard, stained with blood and dust,still showed the delicate chiselling of eyebrow and nose, the Underwoodcharacteristic!

  Such remedies as the Ranch afforded produced tokens of reviving power,and Ferdinand could not believe the wounds necessarily mortal. The restof the party were about to pursue their journey, and through them hesent the most urgent entreaties and liberal promises that could inducea surgeon to take his life in his hand, and cross that dreadful waste.The signature of F.A. Travis was well known in the West.

  While Ferdinand was washing away the soil from the face once sofair and brilliant, bringing out more of the familiar features,consciousness returned in groans; and when at last the lids wereraised, and showed the well remembered deep blue eyes, the first wordthat struggled articulately from the lips was, 'Jerry! Baby!'

  'Here!' Ferdinand laid the nerveless hand on the little flaxen head,still motionless.

  That was enough at first, but as the tide of life began to flow morefreely, Edgar called the child again; and as no answer came, used hishand to feel, writhed his head to look. 'Jerry!--what--asleep? They'venot hurt him!' The last words in a tone of full sense and anguish.

  'He does not seem to suffer,' said Ferdinand. 'I have sent for adoctor, and I trust to keep you both up till he comes.'

  'A doctor! Here?' with a contemptuous groan. 'Help me, I must see him!'with a vain effort for a fuller view of the child, who was on a sortof crib by his side, lying with closed eyes, and a beautiful waxendeath-like face. 'Lift me!'

  It cost sobs of agony, though that seemed lost in the intense gaze. 'Ishis wound there?' he asked, looking at the bandaged head.

  'That was the scalp-knife, but it has done little harm. _The_ wound ishere, but the ball passed out at the back.'

  'And is _here_,' said Edgar, laying his hand on his body. 'I had himbefore me on my horse, as we always went, my brave boy! One week more,and we should have been beyond the miscreants' reach!' and he sank backwith a piteous wailing moan, too weak and shattered for demonstrativegrief, though utterly crushed. 'Put him by me,' he added presently; 'ifthere be any life left in him, he will like it.'

  'I am afraid of hurting you.'

  'Nothing will make much odds now. We are both done for, and I am gladit is both, if it was to be. My poor little chap, we couldn't dowithout each other!'

  Then, as Ferdinand placed the child where his restless hand couldstroke the cheek, tender parental pride revived. 'A jolly little face,isn't it? if you saw it like itself. Oh, if I could see those eyes openfor once!'

  There seemed a revival of strength; but with the knowledge of thebullet-wound and the six frightful gashes of the Indian knives,Ferdinand felt that a few questions must be risked, lest this should bea delusive rally, and speech suddenly fail. 'You know me, Edgar?'

  'Fernan Travis! Ay. You're not much altered! But how did you know me?I'm not much like the swell I used to be! Ah! I see!' as Ferdinandsigned towards the photograph. 'How are _they_ all?'

  'All well, when last I heard. Longing only to hear of you.'

  'Better not.'

  'And this is your boy. His mother?' he added, with more hesitation; andit brought a fierce look.

  'Never had one in any real sense. She left him at ten monthsold--always hated him. But he's all right. You'll find the certificatein that old green case.'

  'Of his baptism?'

  'No. Such matters don't come handy here, and she wasn't one to concernherself about them. I don't know that she was the better for that! No:it's my marriage lines! I kept them for his sake, though I gnashed myteeth at them often enough.'

  'Pray let me baptize him!' entreated Ferdinand, with an imploringaccent, contrasting so curiously with his bronzed face and black beard,that Edgar again smiled, saying, 'You've not turned parson?'

  'No, but this is a case of necessity.'

  'Oh! all's one to me,' interrupted Edgar, with a sort of instinctivesneer to cut short a Clementine discourse; 'since this business mustcome to their ears at home, they may as well be at peace about one ofus.'

  'And his name?'

  'His eyes--you'll never see them--but they have so much little Cherry'swistful look, that I've called him Gerald; you may tack Felix to it.No mockery! He's been the happiest little soul that ever was born,happiest maybe if he goes on as he is, knowing nothing about it.'

  As Fernan repeated the Lord's Prayer, first learnt from Lance, thetears gathered and softened Edgar's eyes, and made a mist as he saw thepale brow sprinkled, and heard the Holy Name.

  'You said that once for him. Let me hear the old echo again. I wantedto teach him, but it never came right.'

  Ferdinand was so thankful that the doxology came from his heart, thoughat the moment he saw that the poor child had been almost baptized inblood, for Edgar's caresses had displaced the bandage and some brightred drops had started, and mingled with the water, and he could nothelp silently tracing the cross with his finger before kissing andwiping it away, and re-adjusting the handkerchief. 'He is warmer,' hesaid. 'See, his lips are less deathly.'

  'The death flush,' said the father.

  'It need not be. I will try the brandy again. I thought we got a littledown before.'

  'I tell you he shall not be tortured! Why should he wake to an hour'sconscious misery? I could not bear it! I say I will not have it done!'and he stretched out his hand as in protection.

  'Nay, why should not he live? There can hardly be any vital part here,and it has just missed the spine. Let me try!'

  'To make him a wretched orphan. Another burthen to Felix.'

  'That need not be a scruple now.'

  'He has not married Marilda after all!'

  'No; but he has come into the property.'

  He was surprised at the effect of his words, 'What! what! Felix! ValeLeston?'

  'Yes, he has been living there these four years.'

  'Not married?'

  'No.'

  'Then that child is heir to all! Bless me! Felix at Vale Leston! Itmakes one believe in a Providence at last.'

  He anxiously watched Ferdinand's endeavours to restore his little son,as though divided between the wish for his life and the apprehensionof his visible suffering; but though the stimulant was certainlyswallowed, and produced a slight revival of pulse, the lethargycontinued.

  Edgar's own wounds, except the rifle-shot in the body, were thelacerations with which the Indians mark their victims, not mortal inthemselves; but he never admitted any hope for himself, and though forone day and night his recovery seemed possible, after that the woundsassumed an appearance which the experienced inhabitants, many of themfugitive Secessionists, pronounced to be fatal.

  He talked a good deal at times, and was eager to hear all Fernan couldtell him about home; and though he gave no connected history, it waspossible to piece together the sad story of his life from his ramblingtalk.

  The sight of Spooner, the manager, in a cab, had convinced him that hisforgery had been detected, and he could hardly credit the assurancethat it was known to no creature save Marilda and Ferdinand himself,whom she had instantly despatched to assure him of pardon and secresy.

  'No! did Polly do that? A golden girl I knew she was; but that'ssublime! Yet I might have known she had held her tongue, since Felixand Cherry are alive and well! Good old girl. I say, Travis, you musthave her after all. She deserves it!'

  His relief was intense, when he thought of his son, in finding no brandaffixed to the name he had never dared own again, except at the twomost unhappy events of his life, his duel and his wedding.

  'Ourselves, our souls, and bodies, to be a reasonable, holy, and livelysacrifice,' he said. 'Those were little Lance's words--the chief reasonhe assigned for burying himself at Bexley. A fa
natic craze of course,but I never got the words out of my head, and I'm sure I've beenthe sacrifice, soul and body, though not what you'd call a holy or areasonable one! Well, whatever hindered him, it was well for him!'

  He explained that Allen had been a feeble speculator, but plausible, ofpersonal good faith, and perniciously sanguine. His schemes had chieflydevoured Thomas Underwood's legacy, while as to the other debts, Edgartreated them lightly, and though he was much moved at Geraldine'sexertions to pay them, he called it an infatuation in Felix to haveallowed it.

  After his flight to Ostend, Edgar had joined Allen's company atStrasburg. Failure had disgusted him with painting, and the freewandering life had long fascinated him, while with the Zoraya he hada standing game at coquetry. Though her name was Hungarian, she wasalmost stage-born, and her nationality was harder to analyze thanFerdinand's. She had sung ever since she could speak, and been bredto the boards, but as, in spite of her splendid beauty, she lackeddramatic talent, and her voice had been too early strained, she wasnever more than a third-rate prima-donna, with airs and graces thatwere Edgar's sport and titillation, while to her he was the handsomestand most gentlemanly man in the company, with wit and breeding of whichshe was half afraid.

  When Edgar found that the unhappy occurrence at Pau was known, heasked eagerly after Alice, blessing the kindness that had brought herhome; but he lived where life was held too cheap to make him greatlyheed blood-guiltiness; nor had he deemed the wound more than the justpenalty of forcing the duel on him, viewing the fatal result chieflyas an accident. But Zoraya had seen Alice shriek and faint, and Edgarfalter and blush, and knew that this pretty English doll had been thecause of his killing his man. Thenceforth passion and jealousy awoke inher, and made her whole being centre in the determination to turn histrifling into earnest. Her beauty became more striking, her songs moreeffective in the absorption of her soul, and her eager pursuit becameas often oppressive as amusing. When he had remained in Egypt with theapparently dying Major Harewood, nothing could persuade her that theEnglishman was not connected with Alice; and when he joined the troopagain, she hailed him like a truant slave returned to his bondage.

  Why had he not broken from it? Had the telegram announced Felix, hecould not have helped lingering for a sight of his face in spite ofeverything; but Wilmet, in her cold severity, and her grief too, hecould not encounter, especially as Zoraya had threatened to descendupon him and 'imagine the meeting.'

  So he drifted back to the 'company,' which had by force of custombecome a sort of home, and was his sole resource. 'Rattle-snake andfrog,' he said; 'of course the frog succumbs at last.'

  But that had not been till the retirement of the Allens had left himto the mercy of the Prebels, and when the absence of Mrs. Allen'sunimpeachable respectability left the company at the mercy of scandal;and a little exaggeration of evil report, with a few tears and heroics,brought him passively to surrender his hand to his pursuer, and theywere married in New Zealand before proceeding to America to 'star it'in the Southern States.

  Even then his affectionate nature would have opened to family love; butwith the attainment of her object, Zoraya's passion ceased, and sheviewed him as a master to be resisted. His ideal of a wife had beenformed on very different women, and incensed her imperious temper; andwhen her violence was met by cool sarcasm, she was lashed to frenzy.Her repugnance to motherhood completed his disgust. He deliberatelytold Fernan that first and last he had never seen a spark of evenanimal yearning towards the infant, only angry impatience of thediscomfort and inconvenience, and contempt of the pleasure it gave him.She was enough among the advocates of advanced women's rights to learnto admire her own scorn of maternity, and but for an old negress, whomhe had hired on the poor little thing's unwelcome entrance into theworld, its chances of life would have been few.

  So they had rubbed on, till at Chicago Edgar had fallen ill withinflammation on the chest and throat, and was left voiceless, hoveringon the verge of decline. He was still confined to his room when hereceived a note from Zoraya to inform him that she could not beburthened with the support of an invalid, and had therefore made otherarrangements, in pursuance of which she enclosed a deed of divorce.To him it was liberty, and satisfaction that she had not heart enoughto rob him of his child, but it was also destitution. However, therewas compassion enough for the sick and deserted vocalist to renderlandlord and doctor merciful, and he was allowed to liquidate his debtby taking portraits as soon as he could reach the drawing-room of theboarding-house and wield his crayons.

  'I don't know whether the divorce would hold water at home,' he said;'but keep it, to guard the boy. If he is heir to anything she willscent it, like a vulture, carrion. Stay, while I can sign it, you drawup a form, giving the custody of him to my brothers, and forbidding herhaving anything to do with him.'

  He was uneasy till this was done. His success at Chicago had givenhim hopes of gaining a livelihood with his brush, but he soon foundphotography too strong for him, and could meet with no employment as aviolinist. His health was too much shattered for settled exertion, andthough he said little of his struggles and sufferings, they must havebeen frightful, as he dropped from one failure to another, striving ashe had never striven before, till he actually became a teamster to aparty prospecting far West. 'I can't think how they came to take such ascrew!' he said; 'but I believe they forgave me my child for the sakeof my fiddle. Such a child as it was too, not eighteen months old, butnever fretting for a moment. Most of the way I carried him strapped onmy back, and always felt his little hand in my beard, and heard hisvoice in my ear as blithe as a katydid, and he was always ready toplay, till he was a regular pet-kitten among them. Ah, well, Jerry, youand I have had good times together. How will he ever stand the highpolite at home? Pah! You must have him out now and then, and let himbreathe the prairies, and gallop after the buffaloes.'

  It had ended in Edgar's settling down on this spot, having found theEditor of the 'Soaring Eagle of the Far West' closing with a favourableoffer at the other end of the Continent. 'Tell Felix I took to histrade,' he said. 'Take home a sheet or two to be preserved alongsideof the Pursuivant in the family archives. It is dated Violinia, afree translation of Fiddler's Ranch. Before I came, it used to beBroken-head Ranch; but it got the other name when I took to playing tohinder my boy from hearing more foul tongues than I could help. TakeLance my violin. He may some day make it over to Jerry, if he has aturn that way, though maybe he had best not.'

  Perhaps nothing he said was sadder than this, considering what musiccould have been to him.

  It appeared that though the wonderful spring of health in thatsalubrious air had made his first years there enjoyable, he had begunto feel the lack of all good influences as his child grew older.What he heard with indifference from his comrades, was shocking whenechoed from the tender lips that brought back the thought of home; andwhen Gerald began to ask those deep questions of why and wherefore,life and death, that we only cease to wonder over as we grow used tothem, Edgar, who had never reflected before, only undergone a fewintellectual impressions and influences, answered as one bewildered;and when the fair head nestled to him, longed to see it bent over theclasped hands, like the heads so like it at home. He tried to teach;but prayers, cast off half a life-time ago, came not at his beck, andthe very framework of the religion he had never attended to, and thenthrown aside, had almost passed from him. Fragments floated beforehim, and his perplexity became longing to clear his mind; and whenthe foul habits and language of the Ranch came prominently before thechild's growing perception, he had resolved to remove to where orderand decency prevailed. He had answered an advertisement offeringemployment as an editor in a more advanced settlement, and was in theact of riding to an isolated station to collect his debts before hisdeparture, when the attack had been made.

  It was as if he had been just turning back from the husks which theswine did eat, and making his first step from the far country; andperhaps he thought so himself, for when Fernan's kindness as well ashi
s own suffering had demolished his proud irony, he said, 'A fellowlike you carries his Bible as a charm. Read me the old story of theyounger son. It is not an original idea to ask for it, but the cadenceshave rung in my head ever since that "Pater noster" of yours.'

  It was as if the old irreverence must still tinge whatever he said.Very perplexing it was. Was it repentance, that self-condemnation forwasted kindness? Was it faith, that increasing craving for Gospelmessages? Was it prayer, the entreaty for the forms whose words, allbroken, haunted the memory of the clergyman's son? He showed neitherfear nor regret; he knew he had his death-warrant, he had made a badbusiness of life, and was weary of it--he, his thirty-second year notyet complete--he, the most gifted of the brothers. He sent no directmessage, either to ask pardon for himself, or protection for hischild--perhaps he was too secure of both to feel the need, for he spokemore and more of Felix and Cherry--nay, seemed to be talking to themwhen fever obscured his mind. Over and over recurred Lance's answer, 'areasonable, holy, and lively sacrifice,' as if it had been the riddleof his life--or again the opening words of the Lord's Prayer, runninginto 'I will arise and go to my Father.'

  The loving hearts must trust to the Father, Who can meet the son evenwhile yet a great way off. And it was well for them that kind Ferdinanddropped the veil over the day when the doctor came too late foralleviation, though in time to save the child, as the lethargic trancegave way, and the moan of 'Daddy, daddy!' began. The last consciouslight of the father's eyes met those of the boy; his last word repliedto the feeble call. So Edgar Underwood passed away, and Ferdinandburied him beneath a pine-tree, amid many evidences that he hadendeared himself to the rude spirits around, who mourned him in theirrough sort, with many an anecdote of his ready wit and good-nature, andmany another of little Jerry's drollery, simplicity, or courage.

  The doctor recommended transporting the child to Sacramento beforerecovery of his senses should aggravate the danger of the journey. Thespine, though not actually touched, had received a shock, and wouldrequire most careful treatment, beyond his own skill. So a bark cradlelike that of a papoose, had been constructed, and slung to Ferdinand'sshoulders so that he could raise it in his arms and break the joltingof the waggon over the roadless waste. When clasped in a pair of kindarms, with a beard to put his hand into, and a soothing voice to hushhis moan, he did not waken to miss his father, though more than once heasked how soon they should arrive, and many times begged to go to bed.

  The best surgeons of Sacramento and San Francisco had consulted overthe little fellow, and pronounced that the spine had escaped by solittle that the nerves would long feel the shock, though it might beoutgrown in time. They thought he might be removed as soon as theexternal wounds were healed and the constitution had somewhat rallied.A nurse had been obtained, but at present the boy would endure noattendance but Ferdinand's, and seemed satisfied and lulled into ahalf-conscious doze by his English voice and accent.

  All that Edgar had said about his son being Felix's next heir wasomitted in the letter; but Ferdinand said he supposed that Felix wouldwish the boy to be brought home as soon as he could safely travel, butif not, he should be sure of a loving home at 'Underwood.' If he werenot to be received, a telegram should be sent to Sacramento, but therewould probably be time for a letter, since weeks might pass before amove would be prudent. Of course, too, all respecting the forgery wassuppressed, and only written to Marilda, who was attending her motheron her yearly visit to Spa.

  Clement read the letter through without pause or remark, though hisvoice shook and thickened when he read of Edgar feeling about forthe Lord's Prayer, and Fernan helping him. Truly, the last had beenfirst, and the first last. He was disappointed too, not to find more tojustify the hope that his brother had evidently gathered.

  Felix lay back all the time, his eyes fixed with a kind of unseeingsteadiness on his own photograph of his father, hanging against thewall. His hands were clasped over his breast, sometimes tremblingslightly, but never unlocking. 'Thank you,' he said; 'there seemsnothing to keep from Cherry.'

  'She might imagine much worse things if she did not see the letter.'

  'If we prepare her, and give it to her to read, it will be almost acomfort. Call her in when they come home. No, I will, or she will takealarm for me.'

  Care for Cherry seemed his first thought; and Clement said, 'It is wellwe never told her what we thought about the Australian report. How muchit has spared her!'

  'Ay; mark the time, Clem! It was spring, five years ago, just when youand I began those prayers, that he was left with a little child to leadhim. How often that is brought about!'

  'I am glad he named the child after Cherry,' said Clement, willing toblink the full reply, for never having been able to love Edgar asdid his elder brother, he could not as entirely 'believe all thingsand hope all things.' He felt the terrible deficiency, knowing thatFerdinand would have put foremost whatever truth would allow him to say.

  The indirect reply made Felix shrink from that heart's core of thesubject, unwilling to hear the faint qualified hope that consciencewould suffer his brother to utter, dashing the comfort that he hadembraced.

  With a heavy sigh he began to lament the great unhappiness that hadcome upon one so formed for light and sunshine. Edgar and Lance hadalways been of the same temperament and tastes, and yet they had beenthe two arrows, shot by the same hand, but of such different course.

  'A very sinister blast came on one!' said Clement.

  'Yet, change their places,' said Felix. 'Lance would at fifteen havestood the foreign college, and I doubt if the Minsterham choir wouldhave been good for Edgar!'

  'The real key lies in those words that haunted poor Edgar. Thesacrifice must be to One or to the other--the Rood, or the heavierweight,' said Clement.

  'Heavy indeed!' sighed Felix, as if the severity cut him, giving wayto a sobbing groan. 'Such a life, and such a death! Our father'spride--the flower of us all! O Edgar, our nursery king, that it shouldhave come to this! What would not I give to have been where Travis was,if only to cry, Alas! my brother!'

  And as the beautiful features, gallant bearing, and winning speech, soaffectionate when most blameworthy, came over him, his enfeebled statebroke down his ordinary reserve, and sorrow had its course.

  Then came a long stillness while Clement wrote to Lance; but when thebell rang, Felix rose to accompany his brother; and when Clement,perceiving how painfully he moved, would have dissuaded him, he madehis usual answer, that 'After a time, there is no use in favouring astrain.'

  His management of himself was right, for after the quiet littleservice, almost a duet between the brothers, in which both could affordto falter or choke when the _De Profundis_ came among the Psalms,Clement found him standing under the willow-tree, quite himself again,as he looked at Theodore's little green bed, with Stella's wreathof white roses. No doubt his thoughts were on the lone unhallowedgrave parted from them by half the world; but he would not risk hisself-control again, and took Clement's arm without speaking.

  The twilight of the July evening was falling when the waggonette cameto the door with rippling laughter and merry voices, calling to the twobrothers who stood in the porch.

  Clement went forward and lifted Cherry out, then left her to Felix. Itwas too dark to see faces; but silence was already taking effect, andwhen she found herself beckoned into the study, she knew her brotherwas strongly moved, and was too sure of the cause by intuition to utterher former cry, 'Is it Edgar?' only she trembled as Felix made her sitdown on the sofa, and placing himself beside her, said, 'My Cherry, ourlong waiting is over;' and then while her fingers closed on the handthat held them, he calmly told her the facts.

  She bore it better than he had expected, unknowing how he himselfabsorbed her chief anxiety. Indeed, the hours which had intervened hadbrought him to so resigned and thankful a tone, that it almost hid fromher the full force of his tidings. She asked for the letter, and thenrose in search of light.

  'You would like to go to your room,'
he said, and gave her his arm,both too much absorbed to remember that he had not helped her upstairssince the accident. When he had kissed her, and shut her into her room,he leant for some seconds on the rail, and his face was contracted bysuffering, more physical than mental.

  He was at the evening meal, and so was Cherry. She would not have hersupper sent up, she wanted to be in his presence, and be supported byit. She was so far stunned, that the horrors that would yet haunt herfor many a night had not dawned on her imagination; but when he said,'It is well,' she felt it so, but she needed to look at his face to besoothed and comforted--yes, though it was terribly pale. The colour,save in chance flushes, had never come back, and to-night the whitenesswas like marble, but the quiet strength and peace seemed to hush, bearher up, and quell the wailings of her heart.

  And when John Harewood came full of anxious inquiry, he really thoughtthe tidings had overcome them less than his own wife, who had neverquite recovered the effect of her exertions at the accident, and cominghome over-tired, had been quite crushed by the intelligence--the morebecause, like those whose judgment was stronger than their yearningover Edgar, she did not trust much to those few tokens of penitence.And Angela was not withheld from loudly blaming Fernan for not having,as she assumed, insisted on proclaiming the sinner's Hope, and whenassured, that no doubt he must have done so, though he did not set downhis own words, she shook her head, and said, 'How could he, when he didnot know it himself?' There she was silenced by Felix, and went to theHepburns for sympathy.

  For the rest, the family spoke little of the new loss. Felix quietlybusied himself in the arrangements that the discovery of of his newheir made him think desirable. Mrs. Fulbert's remarriage, and thelapse of her annuity, made him better able to carry out his plans atonce; and if his heir were not Clement, it was necessary to make thearrangements more definitively.

  Of course the little Gerald was telegraphed and written for. He must bewelcomed and loved, but he was on the whole dreaded as much as hopedfor. The Mays spoke of the self-reliance of the best-trained colonialchildren; and what could this poor boy be--the deserted son of thesinging-woman--but at best a sort of 'Luck of Roaring Camp.' Wilmetinfinitely pitied Geraldine, and rejoiced that the river lay between,to keep Kester and Edward out of the way of corruption.