CHAPTER XVII.
THE CHASE.
"Tones that I once used to know Thrill in those accents of thine, Eyes that I loved long ago Gaze 'neath your lashes at mine."
Except by Isobel, Belle was scarcely missed at the desert island, wherethe Sea Urchins had so many interesting schemes on hand that they didnot trouble to spare a thought to one who had not taken the pains tomake herself a general favourite. For the last few days all the childrenhad been absorbed in the construction of another hut upon the oppositeend of the island. It was built with loose stones, after the fashion ofan Irish cabin, and they intended to roof it, when it was finished, withplanks covered with pieces of turf. This new building was to surpasseven the old one in beauty and ingenuity. It was to consist of severalrooms, and both boys and girls toiled away at it with an ardour whichwould have caused the ordinary British workman to open his eyes inamazement.
Isobel worked as hard as any one, carrying stones, and mixing a crumblykind of mortar made out of sand and crushed limpets, which Charliefondly imagined would resemble the famous cement with which mediaevalcastles were built, and would defy the combined effects of time andweather. Since Belle's desertion she had been much with the Chesters.Hilda, though several years younger than herself, was a dear littlecompanion, and Charlie was a staunch friend, standing up for her whennecessary against the Rokeby boys, whose teasing was sometimes apt toget beyond all bounds of endurance. On the following Friday the wholeparty were busy upon the shore, collecting a fresh supply of shell-fishfor their architecture, when Isobel, who had left the others that shemight carry her load of periwinkles to the already large heap under therocks, spied her friend the colonel in the distance, and flinging downher basket, hurried along the beach to greet him.
"Well met, Miss Robinson Crusoe!" cried the colonel. "I was just on thepoint of going up the cliff to take another look at the old stone. I'mlike a child with a new toy. I find I can't tear myself away from it,and I want to keep going back to read the runes again, and to see thatit is safe and uninjured. Will you come with me to keep me company?"
Isobel was nothing loath--she much enjoyed a chat with the owner of theisland; and they sat for a long time on a large boulder near the cross,while he wrote the runic alphabet for her on a leaf torn from hispocket-book.
"Now I should at least be able to make out the words of anotherinscription if I found it," she said triumphantly, "even if I didn'tknow what it meant. I shall copy these, and then write my name in runesinside all my books. I think they're ever so much prettier than modernletters."
"With the slight disadvantage that very few people can decipher them,"laughed the colonel. "You might as well sign your autograph in Sanscrit.How fast the tide is rising! I think we should warn your playfellowsthat they ought to be running home. I'm always afraid lest they shouldbe caught on these sands."
He rose as he spoke, and walked to the verge of the cliff, where hecould command a view of the shore below, just in time to see the last ofthe children hustled by Charlotte Wright (whose sensible practical headnever forgot the state of the tide) up the beach at the Silversands sideof the channel, which was already beginning to fill so quickly as torender any further crossing impossible.
"Oh, look! What shall we do?" cried Isobel, in some alarm. "We're quitecut off. We can't possibly get through that deep water even if we try towade. We shall have to stay on the island all night."
"And sleep in the hut like true pioneers?" said the colonel. "It wouldcertainly be a new experience. No, little Miss Crusoe, I don't think weare driven to such a desperate extremity as that yet. I left my boat atthe other side of the headland, and my man is only waiting my signal torow round. I will take you across with me to the Chase, and land you insafety."
Mounting to the top of the hill, he waved his handkerchief, and a smallrow-boat which had been anchored in the bay put off immediately in theirdirection.
"It's not nearly so romantic as if we had been obliged to spend a lonelynight shivering in the hut," said the colonel. "We've missed rather aninteresting adventure, but it's much more comfortable, after all.By-the-bye, will your mother feel anxious if she sees the other childrenreturn without you?"
"She's gone to Ferndale this afternoon to buy some more paints anddrawing paper," replied Isobel. "You can't get sketching materials inSilversands. She won't be home until seven o'clock, because there isn'ta train earlier. I shall have to take tea alone."
"Better have it with me," suggested her friend. "I feel I owe somereturn for the hospitality you exercised in the hut. I haven't forgottenthe nice cup of tea you made. You must see my flowers, and I can sendyou home afterwards in the dog-cart."
"That _would_ be nice!" cried Isobel, her joy at the prospect showingitself in her beaming face. "We saw your garden from the top of the Scarthat day we went into your grounds, and I thought it looked _lovely_."
"Well, I believe I have as good a show as most people in theneighbourhood," admitted the colonel; "but you shall judge for yourself.Here we are at the landing-place. Take care! Give me your hand, and Iwill help you out."
The Chase appeared to have a private wooden jetty of its own, which ledon to a strip of shingly beach, at the other side of which an iron gateadmitted them into a small plantation of fir trees, and through ashrubbery into the garden. Isobel could not restrain a cry of pleasureat the sight of the flowers, which were now in the prime of their earlyautumn glory, and she did not know whether to admire more the littlebeds, gay with bright blossoms, which dotted the smoothly mown lawns, orthe splendid herbaceous borders behind, full of dahlias, sunflowers,gladioli, hollyhocks, torch lilies, tall bell-flowers, and otherbeautiful plants.
"I must show you all my treasures," said the colonel, pleased with herappreciation, as he took her to the pond where the pink water-liliesgrew, and the bamboo and eucalyptus were flourishing in the open air.
"You don't often find subtropical plants so far north," he explained,with a touch of pride as he pointed them out; "but this is a verysheltered situation, and we protect them with matting during the winter.You should see the irises in the spring and early summer; they are amass of delicate colour, and thrive so well down by the water's edge."
The rock garden, with its pretty Alpine blossoms; the rosery, where thequeen of flowers seemed represented by every variety, from the delicateyellow of the tea to the rich red of the damask; the fountain, where thewater flowed from the pouting lips of a chubby cherub, astride on adolphin, into a basin filled with gold and silver fish; the terracedwalk, covered by a fine magnolia; and the summer-house on the wall,containing a fixed telescope through which you could look out over thesea--all were an equal delight to Isobel's wondering eyes, for she hadnever before been in such beautiful grounds. Nor was the kitchen-gardenless of a surprise, with its peaches and apricots hanging on the redbrick walls, carefully netted to preserve them from the birds; its bedsof tall, feathery asparagus, and its ripe greengages and early apples.The trim neatness of the vegetable borders was enlivened by edgings ofhardy annuals, and here and there a mass of sweet peas filled the airwith a delicious fragrance, while in a corner stood a row of bee-hives,the buzzing occupants of which seemed busily at work among the scarletrunners. Isobel thought no enchanted palace could rival the greenhouses,gay with geraniums and fuchsias and rare plants, the names of which shedid not know, or the vinery with its countless bunches of black grapeshanging from the roof. It was so particularly nice to be taken round bythe owner, who could pluck the flowers and fruit as he wished, and sodifferent from the park at home, which was her usual playground, whereyou might not walk on the grass, and hardly dared to admire the flowers,for fear the policeman should suspect you of wanting to touch them.
"You will be quite tired now, and hungry too, I expect," said her host,as he led the way on to a long glass-roofed veranda in front of thehouse, where two chairs and a round table spread for tea were awaitingthem. "I must show you my horses and dogs afterwards. I have five littlecollie pups, which I
am sure you will like to see, and a brown foal,only a fortnight old. My coachman has some fan-tail pigeons, too, and ahutch of rabbits."
It seemed very strange to Isobel to find herself sitting in thecomfortable basket-chair, talking to the colonel while he poured the teafrom the silver teapot into the pretty painted cups. She could scarcelybelieve that only three weeks ago she had trespassed in his grounds, andhad almost expected him to send her to prison for the offence, while nowshe was chatting to him as freely as if she had known him all her life.That her holland frock was not improved by an afternoon's play on theisland, that her sand shoes were the worse for wear and her sailor hatwas her oldest, and that the wind had blown her long hair into elflocks, did not distress her in the least, though I fear Mrs. Stewartwould hardly have considered her in visiting order. Certainly thecolonel did not seem to mind, and whatever he may have thought of theappearance of his young guest, her good manners and refined accent hadshown him from the first that she was the child of cultured people.
"Mother means to sketch the runic cross on Monday," volunteered Isobel,as the talk turned on the subject of the island. "She went to Ferndaleto-day on purpose to buy a new block; her old one was too small, and notthe right shape."
"I shall hope to see her picture," replied the colonel. "I must show youthe photos of the stone, which arrived this morning. They are in mystudy; so, if you really won't have any more tea, we will come indoorsand look at them now."
He led the way through an open French window into a large and pleasantdrawing-room, which appeared so filled with beautiful cabinets ofcuriosities, old china, rare pictures and books, that Isobel would haveliked to linger and look at them if she had dared to ask; but thecolonel strode on into the panelled hall, and passing the wide staircasewith its carved balustrade and its statue of Hebe, holding a lamp, atthe foot, took her into a long low library at the farther side of thehouse. It was a cosy room. Its four windows overlooked the rose garden,and had a peep of the cliffs and the sea; a large writing-table strewnwith papers stood in a recess; and various padded morocco easy-chairsseemed to invite one to sit down and read the books which almost coveredthe walls from floor to ceiling. Over the fine stone chimney-piece hungtwo portraits, the only pictures to be seen--one an enlarged photographof a handsome young officer in a Guards uniform; the other a small oilpainting of a little girl with gray eyes and straight fair hair, partedsmoothly in the middle of her forehead, and tied by a ribbon under herears.
"I only received the prints this morning," said the colonel, taking anenvelope from his desk. "There are four views altogether, as you willsee; but I think you will like this the best, for it shows the runes soplainly."
He held out the photo of the ancient cross, but Isobel did not noticeit. She was standing with parted lips, her eyes fixed in amazement uponthe two portraits over the fireplace.
"Why," she cried, in an eager voice, "that's father--my father!"
"Your father, my dear?" said the colonel, astonished in his turn."Impossible! This is a portrait of my son."
"But it _is_ father!" returned Isobel. "It's the same photo which wehave at home, only larger. That's the V.C. he won in India, and hisGuards uniform. And the other picture is little Aunt Isobel!"
"What do you mean?" asked the colonel hastily. "How could it be yourAunt Isobel?"
"I don't know, but it _is_!" replied Isobel. "I have a tiny paintingexactly like it, done on ivory, inside a morocco case. It belonged tofather, and he left it to me. She was his only sister, and she died whenshe was eleven years old--just the same age as I am."
For answer the colonel took Isobel by the shoulders, and holding herbeneath the portrait, looked narrowly at her face. The evening sunshine,flooding through the window, fell on the fair hair, and lighted it upwith the same golden gleam as that of the child in the picture above;the gray eyes of both seemed to meet him with the same half-wistful,half-trustful gaze.
"The likeness is extraordinary," he murmured. "I wonder I have nevernoticed it before. Is it possible I could have made so great a mistake?In what regiment was your father?"
"He was in the Fifth Dragoon Guards."
"You have told me he is dead?"
"Yes; he was killed in the Boer war."
"How long ago?"
"Six years on my birthday."
"Was it near Bloemfontein?"
"Yes, in a night skirmish. He is buried there, just where he fell."
"Had he any other relations besides yourself and your mother?"
"Only my grandfather, whom I have never seen."
"And your name?--your name?" cried the colonel, white to the lips withan emotion he could not control.
"Isobel Stewart."
Bosom Friends: A Seaside Story Page 17
