'Shot him!' cried Mary. 'Was he much hurt?'
'Killed! I took him to Miss Faithfull, to be sketched before he is stuffed-'
A clearer view of the company, a wave of the hand from the Earl, and the young gentleman was gone. Next he opened the library door, saying, 'Here's my pretty behaviour!'
'Louis! what is the matter?' cried Mrs. Ponsonby.
'I entirely forgot the right honourable, and marched into the dining- room to tell Aunt Catharine that I have killed a rose-coloured pastor.'
'Killed what?'
'A bird, hardly ever seen in England. I spied him in the fir-wood, went to Warren for a gun, brought him down, and walked on to the House Beautiful, where Miss Faithfull was enchanted. She will copy him, and send him to the bird-stuffer. I looked in to give directions, and old Jenyns was amazed; he never knew one shot here before, so early in the year too. He says we must send the account to the Ornithological-'
'Do you know how wet you are? exclaimed Mrs. Ponsonby, seeing rivulets dropping from his coat.
'I see. It rained all the way home, and was so dark, I could not see the footpath; and when I came in, my eyes were blinded by the light, and my head so full of the pastor, that the other minister never occurred to me, and remains under the impression that I have confessed a sacrilegious murder.'
'You really are incorrigible!' cried Mrs. Ponsonby. 'Why are you not dressing for dinner?'
'Because you are going to give me a cup of your tea.'
'Certainly not. I shall begin to think you purposely mortified your father, when you know he wanted you to be reasonable.'
'The lower species never show off well to strangers,' said Fitzjocelyn, coolly; but, as he lighted his candle, he added, with more candour, 'I beg your pardon-indeed I did not do this on purpose, but don't say anything about appearances-there's something in me that is sure to revolt.'
So noiselessly that the moment was unknown, the vacant chair was filled by a gentleman irreproachably attired, his face glowing with exercise, or with what made him very debonnaire and really silent, dining rapidly and unobtrusively, and never raising his eyes even to his aunt, probably intending thus to remain all the evening; but presently Sir Miles turned to him and said, 'Pray satisfy my curiosity. Who is the rose-coloured pastor?'
Louis raised his eyes, and meeting a pleasing, sensible face, out beamed his arch look of suppressed fun as he answered, 'He is not at all clerical. He is otherwise called the rose-coloured ouzel or starling.'
'Whence is that other startling name?'
'From his attending flocks of sheep, on the same mission as jackdaws fulfil here-which likewise have an ecclesiastical reputation-
'A great frequenter of the church.''
Fearing alike nonsense and ornithology, Lord Ormersfield changed the subject, and Louis subsided, but when the gentlemen came into the drawing-room, Mrs. Ponsonby was surprised to see him taking a fair share, and no more, of the conversation. Some information had been wanted about the terms of labour in the mining districts, and Louis's visit to Illershall enabled him to throw light on the subject, with much clearness and accuracy. Sir Miles had more literature than Lord Ormersfield, and was more used to young men; and he began to draw Fitzjocelyn out, with complete success. Louis fully responded to the touch, and without a notion that he was showing himself to the best advantage, he yielded to the pleasure, and for once proved of what he was capable-revealing unawares an unusual amount of intelligence and observation, and great power of expression. Not even his aunt had ever seen him appear so much like a superior man, and the only alloy was his father's, ill-repressed dread lest he should fall on dangerous ground, and commit himself either to his wildly philanthropical or extravagantly monarchical views, whichever might happen to be in the ascendant. However, such shoals were not approached, nor did Louis ever plunge out of his depth. The whole of his manner and demeanour were proofs that, in his case, much talk sprang from exuberance of ideas, not from self-conceit.
He was equally good in the morning: he had risen early to hunt up some information which Sir Miles wanted, and the clearness and readiness with which he had found it were wonderful. The guest was delighted with him; gave him a warm invitation to Oakstead, and on being left alone with Mrs. Ponsonby, whom he had formerly known, expressed his admiration of his friend's son-as a fine, promising young man, of great ability and originality, and, what was still more remarkable, of most simple, natural manners, perfectly free from conceit. He seemed the more amazed, when he found, what he would hardly believe, that Fitzjocelyn was twenty-one, and had nearly finished his university education.
The liking was mutual. No sooner had Sir Miles departed, than Louis came to the library in a rapture, declaring that here was the refreshing sight of a man unspoilt by political life, which usually ate out the hearts of people.
Mary smiled at this, and told him that he was talking 'like an old statesman weary of the world.'
'One may be weary of the world beforehand as well as after,' said he.
'That does not seem worth while,' said Mary.
'No,' he said, 'but one's own immediate look-out may not be flattering, whatever the next turn may bring;' and he took up the newspaper, and began to turn it over. ''As butler-as single-handed man-as clerk and accountant.' There, those are the lucky men, with downright work, and some one to work for. Or, just listen to this!' and he plunged into a story of some heroic conduct during a shipwreck. While he was reading it aloud, with kindling eyes and enthusiastic interest, his father opened the door. 'Louis,' he said, 'if you are doing nothing, I should be obliged if you would make two copies of this letter.'
Louis glanced at the end of what he was reading, laid the paper down, and opened a blotting-book.
'You had better come into the study, or you will not write correctly.'
'I can write, whatever goes on.'
'I particularly wish this to be legible and accurate. You have begun too low down.'
Louis took another sheet.
'That pen is not fit to write with.'
'The pens are delusions,' said Louis, trying them round, in an easy, idle way: 'I never could mend a quill! How is this steel one? Refuses to recognise the purpose of his existence. Aunt Catherine, do you still forbid steel pens in your school? If so, it must be the solitary instance. How geese must cackle blessings on the inventor! He should have a testimonial-a silver inkstand representing the goose that laid the golden eggs,-and all writing-masters should subscribe. Ha! where did this pen come from? Mary, were you the bounteous mender! A thousand thanks.'
If Louis fretted his father by loitering and nonsense, his father was no less trying by standing over him with advice and criticisms which would have driven most youths beyond patience, but which he bore with constant good-humour, till his father returned to the study, when he exclaimed, 'Now, Mary, if you like to finish the wreck, it will not interrupt me. This is mere machine-work.'
'Thank you,' said Mary; 'I should like it better afterwards. Do you think I might do one copy for you? Or would it not suit Lord Ormersfield?'
Louis made polite demurs, but she overruled them and began.
He stretched himself, took up his Times, and skimmed the remaining incidents of the shipwreck, till he was shamed by seeing Mary half- way down the first page, when he resumed his pen, overtook her, and then relapsed into talk, till Mrs. Frost fairly left the room, to silence him.
As the two copies were completed, Lord Ormersfield returned; and Mary, with many apologies, presented her copy, and received most gracious thanks and compliments on her firm, clear writing, a vexation to her rather than otherwise, since 'Fitzjocelyn' was called to account for dubious scrawls, errors, and erasures.
He meekly took another sheet, consoling himself, however, by saying, 'I warn you that pains will only make it Miss Fanny.'
'What do you mean?'
As if glad to be instigated, he replied, 'Did you never hear of my signature being mistaken by an ingenious person, who addressed his
answer to 'Miss Fanny Jocelyn? Why, Fanny has been one of Jem's regular names for me ever since! I have the envelope somewhere as a curiosity. I'll show it to you, Mary.'
'You seem to be proud of it!' exclaimed his father, nearly out of patience. 'Pray tell me whether you intend to copy this creditably or not.'
'I will endeavour, but the Fates must decide. I can scrawl, or, with pains, I can imitate Miss Fanny; but the other alternative only comes in happy moments.'
'Do you mean that you cannot write well if you choose?'
'It is like other arts-an inspiration. Dogberry was deep when he said it came by nature.'
'Then make no more attempts. No. That schoolgirl's niggle is worse than the first.'
'Fanny, as I told you,' said Louis, looking vacantly up in resigned despair, yet not without the lurking expression of amusement, 'I will try again.'
'No, I thank you. I will have no more time wasted.'
Louis passively moved to the window, where he exclaimed that he saw Aunt Catharine sunning herself in the garden, and must go and help her.
'Did you ever see anything like that?' cried Lord Ormersfield, thoroughly moved to displeasure.
'There was at least good-humour,' said Mrs. Ponsonby. 'Pardon me, there was almost as much to try his temper as yours.'
'He is insensible!'
'I think not. A word from Aunt Catharine rules him.'
'Though you counselled it, Mary, I doubt whether her training has answered. Henry Frost should have been a warning.'
Mary found herself blundering in her new copy, and retreated with it to the study, while her mother made answer: 'I do not repent of my advice. The affection between him and Aunt Catherine is the greatest blessing to him.'
'Poor boy!' said his father, forgetting his letters as he stood pondering. Mrs. Ponsonby seized the moment for reporting Sir Miles's opinion, but the Earl did not betray his gratification. 'First sight!' he said. 'Last night and this afternoon he is as unlike as these are,' and he placed before her Louis's unlucky copies, together with a letter written in a bold, manly hand. 'Three different men might have written these! And he pretends he cannot write like this, if he please!'
'I have no doubt it is to a certain extent true. Yes, absolutely true. You do not conceive the influence that mood has on some characters before they have learnt to master themselves. I do not mean temper, but the mere frame of spirits. Even sense of restraint will often take away the actual power from a child, or where there is not a strong will.'
'You are right!' said he, becoming rigid as if with pain. 'He is a child! You have not yet told me what you think of him. You need not hesitate. No one sees the likeness more plainly than I do.'
'It is strong externally,' she said; 'but I think it is more external than real, more temperament than character.'
'You are too metaphysical for me, Mary;' and he would fain have smiled.
'I want you to be hopeful. Half the object would be attained if you were, and he really deserves that you should.'
'He will not let me. If I hope at one moment, I am disappointed the next.'
'And how? By nothing worse than boyishness. You confirm what my aunt tells me, that there has never been a serious complaint of him.'
'Never. His conduct has always been blameless; but every tutor has said the same-that he has no application, and allows himself to be surpassed by any one of moderate energy!'
'Blameless conduct! How many fathers would give worlds to be able to give such a character of a son!'
'There are faults that are the very indications of a manly spirit,' began the Earl, impatiently. 'Not that I mean that I wish-he has never given me any trouble-but just look at James Frost, and you would see what I mean! There's energy in him-fire-independence; you feel there is substance in him, and like him the better for having a will and way of his own.'
'So, I think, has Louis; but it is so often thwarted, that it sinks away under the sense of duty and submission.'
'If there were any consistency or reason in his fancies, they would not give way so easily; but it is all talk, all extravagant notions- here one day, gone the next. Not a spark of ambition!'
'Ambition is not so safe a spark that we should wish to see it lighted.'
'A man must wish to see his son hold his proper station, and aim high! No one can be satisfied to see him a trifler.'
'I have been trying to find out why he trifles. As far as I can see, he has no ambition, and I do not think his turn will be for a life like yours. His bent is towards what is to do good to others. He would make an admirable country gentleman.'
'A mere farmer, idling away his time in his fields.'
'No; doing infinite good by example and influence, and coming forward whenever duty required it. Depend upon it, the benefit to others is the impulse which can work on Louis, not personal ambition. Birth has already given him more than he values.'
'You may be right,' said Lord Ormersfield, 'but it is hard to see so many advantages thrown away, and what sometimes seems like so much ability wasted. But who can tell? he is never the same for an hour together.'
'May it not be for want of a sphere of wholesome action?'
'He is not fit for it, Mary. You know I resolved that the whole burthen of our losses should fall on me; I made it my object that he should not suffer, and should freely have whatever I had at the same age. Everything is cleared at last. I could give him the same income as I started in life with; but he is so reckless of money, that I cannot feel justified in putting it into his hands. Say what I will, not a vacation occurs but he comes to tell me of some paltry debt of ten or fifteen pounds.'
'He comes to tell you! Nay, never say he has no resolution! Such debts as those, what are they compared with other young men's, of which they do not tell their fathers?'
'If he were like other youths, I should know how to deal with him. But you agree with me, he is not fit to have a larger sum in his hands.'
'Perhaps not; he is too impulsive and inexperienced. If you were to ask me how to make it conduce to his happiness, I should say, lay out more on the estate, so as to employ more men, and make improvements in which he would take interest.'
'I cannot make him care for the estate. Last winter, when he came of age, I tried to explain the state of affairs; but he was utterly indifferent-would not trouble himself to understand the papers he was to sign, and made me quite ashamed of such an exhibition before Richardson.'
'I wish I could defend him! And yet-you will think me unreasonable, but I do believe that if he had thought the welfare of others was concerned, he would have attended more.'
'Umph!'
'I am not sure that it is not his good qualities that make him so hard to deal with. The want of selfishness and vanity seem to take away two common springs of action, but I do believe that patience will bring out something much higher when you have found the way to reach it.'
'That I certainly have not, if it be there!'
'To cultivate his sympathies with you,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, hesitating, and not venturing to look into his face.
'Enough, Mary,' he said, hastily. You said the like to me once before.'
'But,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, firmly, '_here_ there is a foundation to work on. There are affections that only need to be drawn out to make you happy, and him-not, perhaps, what you now wish, but better than you wish.'
His face had become hard as he answered, 'Thank you, Mary; you have always meant the best. You have always been kind to me, and to all belonging to me.'
Her heart ached for the father and son, understanding each other so little, and paining each other so much, and she feared that the Earl's mind had been too much cramped, and his feelings too much chilled, for such softening on his part as could alone, as it seemed, prevent Louis from being estranged, and left to his naturally fickle and indolent disposition.
Mary had in the mean time completed her copies, and left them on the Earl's table; and wishing neither to be thanked nor contrasted with Louis, she put
on her bonnet, to go in search of Aunt Catharine. Not finding her in the garden, she decided on visiting old Gervas and his wife, who had gladly caught at her offer of reading to them. The visit over, she returned by the favourite path above Ferny dell, gathering primroses, and meditating how to stir up Louis to finish off his rocky steps, and make one piece of work complete. She paused at the summit of them, and was much inclined to descend and examine what was wanting, when she started at hearing a rustling beneath, then a low moan and an attempt at a call. The bushes and a projecting rock cut off her view; but, in some trepidation, she called out, 'Is any one there?' Little did she expect the answer-
'It is I-Fitzjocelyn. Come!-I have had a fall.'
'I'm coming-are you hurt?' she cried, as with shaking limbs she prepared to begin the descent.
'Not that way,' he called; 'it gave way-go to the left.'
She was almost disobeying; but, recalling herself to thought, she hurried along the top till the bank became practicable, and tore her way through brake and brier, till she could return along the side of the stream.
Horror-struck, she perceived that a heavy stone had given way and rolled down, bearing Louis with it, to the bottom, where he lay, ghastly and helpless. She called to him; and he tried to raise himself, but sank back. 'Mary! is it you? I thought I should have died here,' he said; as she knelt by him, exclaiming, 'Oh, Louis! Louis! what a dreadful fall!'
'It is my fault,' he eagerly interrupted. 'I am glad it has happened to no one else.'
'And you are terribly hurt! I must go for help! but what can I do for you? Would you like some water?
'Water! Oh! I have heard it all this time gurgling there!'
She filled his cap, and bathed his face, apparently to his great relief, and she ventured to ask if he had been long there.
'Very long!' he said. 'I must have fainted after I got the stone off my foot, so I missed Gervas going by. I thought no one else would come near. Thank God!'
Dynevor Terrace (Vol. I) Page 7
