CHAPTER FOUR.
A TIMELY RECONSIDERATION.
For a few days matters ran smoothly enough. The weather was lovely,ideal May weather, in fact, and Raynier keenly appreciated the softbeauty of this typical English landscape, seen at its best at theloveliest time of the year--the fresh green of the foliage and theyellow-spangled meadows; the cool lanes, shaded with hawthorn blossoms;the snug farmhouses with their blaze of glowing flower-beds and thebackground of picturesque ricks; the faint hum of the mill at the end ofthe village, and the screech of swifts, skirring and wheeling round thechurch tower, seen beyond the wall of the Vicarage garden. Such homelysights and sounds appealed to him the more by contrast to the brassyskies and baked aridity for which he would so soon be bound to exchangethem. For his furlough was drawing very near its end.
Strange that, under the circumstances, it should be almost entirely thisthat constituted his regret. Cynthia seemed to forget her chronicill-temper, and became quite affectionate; yet the recollection of heroutbursts remained. Even when at her best Raynier could not for thelife of him rid his mind of such recollections. That sort of naturedoes not change, he told himself, and the prospect of spending his dayswith the life-long accompaniment of such was as a very weight. And hiswas not one of those easy-going, quickly-forgiving dispositions; farfrom it.
For one circumstance, as time went on, he felt devoutly thankful,although at first he had reproached her with it, and that was thatCynthia was not of a demonstrative temperament, and to this extent thenecessity of make-believe was spared him. He observed, too, in thecourse of their conversations she seldom spoke of the future, or dweltupon their life together, and, observing it, he more than met herhalf-way; and as they went about together, both in speech and demeanourthey were more like two people of very recent and ordinary acquaintancethan a betrothed couple whom a few days more were to separate by nearlyhalf the width of the globe.
At the actual state of things the Vicar, for his part, shrewdly guessed,but being a sensible man forebode to interfere. Cynthia was quite oldenough to manage her own affairs, and so too was Raynier. Possibly,when the thing was irrevocable they would hit it off together as well asmost people did under the circumstances, which, to be sure, was notsaying much. Cynthia, with her faults, had her good points, and ofRaynier he entertained a very high opinion. It would turn out rightenough, he decided, but if he had any misgiving, the Vicar was forced toown to himself that it was not on behalf of his daughter.
"Curious thing that will of old Jervis Raynier's," he said one day, whenhe and his son-in-law elect were walking up and down smoking theirpipes. "He left a good deal, and all to a girl who was hardly anyrelation at all. You only come in after her."
"Which is tantamount to not at all. But the same holds good of myselfin the matter of relationship. I'm only a distant cousin--so distant ashardly to count."
"You're a Raynier, at any rate. But she--By the way, do you ever thinkabout it, Herbert? My advice to you is not to. The chances are tooslight. The girl is young, they tell me, and attractive. She's boundto marry, and then where do you come in?"
"Nowhere, unless I were to marry her myself," laughed Raynier. "Butthat's scratched now. By the bye--who is she, Vicar--?"
"Herbert! Oh, there you are," shrilled the voice of Sylvia at thisjuncture, followed by its owner, somewhat hot, and armed with twotrout-rods. "They told me you had gone on, and I got half-way down thevillage before I found out you hadn't. Here's your rod. Come along.We're losing the best part of the morning."
There was no gainsaying the crisp decisiveness of these orders, and withan apology to the Vicar, he started off. He was forced to own tohimself that these expeditions with the younger girl constituted hisbest times. It never occurred to Cynthia to be jealous of her sister,not in the ordinary sense, although once or twice she was rather acid onthe subject of his preferring so much of the latter's society. The factwas, Sylvia was lacking in feminine attractions, being plain andsomewhat angular. But she was always lively and good-natured, and tothat extent a positive relief from the other, albeit an effective foilto her in looks.
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Sunday had come round, and Cynthia had got up in a bad temper--we haveobserved that upon some people the first day of the week has thateffect--consequently, when Raynier hinted at the possibility of his notgoing to church it exploded. The idea of such a thing! Why, of coursehe must go, staying at the Vicarage as he was. What would be said inthe parish?
"But it didn't matter what was said in the parish last Sunday. Youwouldn't let me come then because I was too ugly," he urged, with amischievous wink at Sylvia.
"Well, so you were, but your face is nearly all right again now,"answered Cynthia, briskly, and with acerbity, for she had no sense offun.
"Not it. You'll see it'll keep all the choir boys staring, and theycan't warble with their heads cocked round at right angles to the restof them."
Sylvia spluttered.
"All the more reason why you should come, Herbert," she said. "I wantto see that. It'll be good sport."
"If you were a boy you'd be a typical parson's son, Silly," he laughed.
"Shut up. I'll throw something at you if you call me that."
"Do, and you'll keep up the part," he returned.
Worthingham Church was in close resemblance to a thousand or so othervillage churches of its size and circumstance, in that it was old andpicturesque, and gave forth the same flavour of mould and damp stones.There was the same rustic choir with newly-oiled heads and clatteringboots and skimpy surplices, singing the same hackneyed hymns, and theVicar's sermon was on the same level of prosiness, not that he could nothave done better, but he had long since ceased to think it worth whiletaking the trouble. But Cynthia Daintree, seated in the front pew, wellgowned and tastefully hatted, and withal complacently conscious of thesame, was the presiding goddess, at whom the rustics aforesaid neverseemed tired of furtively staring--in awe, which somewhat outweighedtheir admiration--therein well-nigh overlooking the discolouredcountenance of her _fiance_.
"Cynthia always looks as if she'd bought up the whole show," pronouncedSylvia, subsequently and irreverently.
Raynier had answered one or two inquiries after his "bicycle accident"--Cynthia having deftly contrived to let it be understood, though not inso many words, that such was the nature of his mishap--and they werere-entering the garden gate. Suddenly she said,--
"Where's your stick, Herbert? The malacca one. Why, you haven't usedit at all this time."
It was all up now, he thought. As a matter of fact his main reason forendeavouring to avoid going to church that morning was that it would beone opportunity the less for her to miss that unlucky article.
"No, I haven't. The fact is I've lost it."
"Lost it? Oh, Herbert!"
She looked so genuinely hurt that he felt almost guilty.
"Yes. I'm awfully sorry, Cynthia. I wouldn't have lost it foranything, but even as it is I'm sure to get it back again. I'm havinginquiries made, and offering rewards, in short doing all I can do.It'll turn up again. I'm certain of that."
"But--how did you lose it, and where?"
He told her how; that being a detail he had purposely omitted inprevious narration of the incident. It was but frowningly received.
"I didn't think you would attach so little value to anything _I_ hadgiven you, and yet I might have known you better."
What is there about the English Sunday atmosphere that is apt to rendercontentious people more quarrelsome still, and those not naturallycontentious--well, a little prickly? Raynier felt his patience ebbing.She was very unreasonable over the matter, and, really--she was quiteold enough to have more sense.
"I don't think you're altogether fair to me, Cynthia," he answered, hisown tone getting rather short. "The thing was unavoidable, you see.Unless you mean you would rather the man's brains had been knocked outby that be
stial mob than that I should have given him some means ofdefending himself. I value the stick immensely, and am doing all I canto recover it, but I should have thought even you would hardly havevalued it at something beyond the price of a man's life."
"Only a blackamoor's," she retorted, now white and tremulous with anger.
"Sorry I can't agree with you," he answered shortly, for he wasthoroughly disgusted. "I have seen rather too much of that sort of`blackamoor,' as you so elegantly term it, not to recognise that he,like ourselves, has his place and use in his own part of the world. Irepeat, I am as sorry as you are the stick should have been lost, but Ishould have thought that, under the circumstances, no woman--with thefeelings of a woman--would have held me to blame."
"That's right. Sneer at me; it's so manly," she retorted, havingreached the tremulous point of rage. "But why didn't you tell me of itat first? Rather underhand, wasn't it?"
"Oh, no. I don't deal in that sort of ware, thanks. I did not tellyou, solely out of consideration for your feelings. I had hoped thething might have been recovered by this time--then I would have toldyou. And look here, Cynthia. Would it surprise you to learn that I amgetting more than a little sick of this sort of thing. I am notaccustomed to being found fault with and hectored every minute of theday. In fact, I'm too old for it, and much too old ever to grow used toit. And since I've been down here this time there's hardly a moment youhaven't been setting me to rights and generally finding fault with me.Well, if that's the order of the day now, what will it be if we are tospend our lives together? Really, I think we'd better seriouslyreconsider that programme."
She looked at him. Just her father's warning. But she was too angryfor prudent counsel to prevail.
"Do you mean that?" she said, breathing quickly.
"Certainly I do. It is not too late to warn you that mine is not thetemperament to submit to perpetual dictation."
"Very well, then. It is your doing, your choice, remember." Andturning from him she passed into the house.
The Sirdar's Oath: A Tale of the North-West Frontier Page 4
